Much More Than a Mistress (10 page)

She reached back to unzip her skirt, thankful, as she wiggled out of it, that she'd worn her matching black lace bra and panties. His low growl as his gaze slipped down
to her legs said he was a man who appreciated thigh-high stockings.

“The bra too,” he said, watching her intently. If she didn't know any better, she might think he was challenging her, seeing just how far he could push. Maybe he was.

She undid the clasp and slipped it off, then hooked her thumbs in the waist of her panties and eased them down, but when she reached for the elastic edge of the thigh-high he shook his head. “Those can stay. My turn now.”

She waited for him to start undressing, and when he didn't, when he grinned and said, “What are you waiting for?” she realized that he wanted
her
to undress him.

He'd probably been with dozens of women, most more experienced or well-versed in making love than she was, but she didn't care. She was here now. And she knew somewhere deep down that this was special. He had picked
her.

His shirt was already unbuttoned, so she pushed it off his shoulders. He was so beautiful, so
perfect.

He fished his wallet from his back pocket and tossed it on the bedside table. Probably because that was where he kept the condoms, and they were going to be needing one. The thought made her knees go weak. She was really going to do it, she was going to sleep with him.

“Keep going,” he said.

She unhooked his belt then unfastened his pants, pushing them down. He kicked them, and his shoes out of the way, then bent over to pull his socks off. All that was left was his boxers, and if the tent in the front was any indiction, she was going to like what she found underneath.

“On or off,” he said. “Your call.”

Why did she get the feeling he thought she wouldn't do it? The old Jane would probably be afraid. She would be worried that she would do something wrong and disappoint
him. But this was the new Jane, and she was no longer afraid of anything.

She grasped the elastic waistband and pulled them down, then she circled his erection in her hand and squeezed. He groaned and heat pulsed against her palm. She smiled up at him and said, “Off.”

She felt like she would go crazy if he didn't touch her soon, and he didn't make her wait. He sat back on the bed and pulled her down with him, rolling her over so that she was on her back and he was looking down at her. Then he kissed her, and she felt so hot with lust, if not for her skin holding her together, she would have melted into the sheets.

He didn't hedge or fumble. He knew exactly what to do to drive her crazy without her ever having to utter a word. His solitary goal, as far as she could tell, was to give her as much pleasure as possible, as many times as possible, before he would even think about himself.

She'd heard that men like him existed, but she honestly believed it was a myth, that those women who bragged about their generous lovers were all lying through their teeth and really had the same boring and pathetically unsatisfying sex lives as she did.

Boy, had she been wrong.

It seemed like forever before he finally grabbed his wallet and pulled out a condom. He pushed her thighs apart and knelt between them, dangling the package in front of her. “Care to do the honors?”

She'd never actually “done the honors” before but if that was what he wanted she would try. She didn't even care if she fumbled a bit. And somehow she didn't think he would either.

She took the packet from him and tore it open with her teeth. As she rolled it down the length of him he closed his
eyes and sucked in a breath, digging his fingers into the meat of her calves. She probably took a little longer than necessary, but he wasn't complaining.

When she was finished she asked, “Is that right?”

He opened his eyes and gazed down at her handiwork. “Looks good to me.” He grinned and added, “Felt good too.”

He lowered himself over her. “Are you ready?”

She was ready the minute he walked through the door.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and with his eyes locked on hers, he slowly thrust inside of her. She had some random, fleeting thought about how this wasn't supposed to be happening, but as he groaned and thrust again, the last remnants of doubt fizzled away. And as he rolled over on to his back, pulling her on top of him, all that she cared about was making him feel good.

It was no-holds-barred, pulse-pounding, headboard-banging, twisted-in-the-sheets, rolling-all-over-the-bed sex. And it was
fun.
She had no idea that sex was supposed to be fun.

Afterward, they both lay flat on their backs, side by side, limp and satisfied. And only then did the possible repercussions of her lack of good sense hit her square between the eyes.

What had his brother Nathan told her? Jordan had a short attention span when it came to women. He liked the chase, but once he got what he was after, he lost interest. So of course, genius that she was, she'd gone and given him exactly what he wanted with practically no effort on his part whatsoever.

Brilliant.

In one act of pure idiocy she had compromised her
principles, crossed the lines of morality and put the investigation in the toilet.

Way to go, Jane.

There had to be a way to begin repairing the damage she'd done. A good start would be to get him the heck out of her bed, back into his clothes and out the door. That was when she realized how quiet he'd become. She pushed herself up on her elbows to look at him. His eyes were closed.

“Jordan?”

He didn't answer. She gave his arm a gentle nudge, and when that got no response, she gave it a shake. Nothing. He was out cold. He had actually rolled over and gone to sleep.

How was that for a cliché?

Of course, considering he'd barely slept for two days, and then had a vigorous workout, she could hardly fault him; besides, that was the least of her worries. The sad fact was, she wouldn't be sleeping with him again.

She shook him again. “Jordan, wake up.”

He mumbled something incoherent and rolled onto his side.

It looked as though she had no choice but to let him stay the night, since nothing short of a dousing with ice water was going to wake him. And though she doubted he would rouse anytime soon, just in case, she would have to leave her makeup on, so he didn't see how she actually looked. Then he would
really
lose interest.

He didn't budge when she untangled his feet from the blankets and covered them both, nor when she leaned over him to switch off the light. She lay there wide awake beside him, listening to his slow, deep breaths, plotting her next move.

She sighed. It was going to be a really long night.

T
he smell of coffee woke Jordan from a dead sleep. He opened his eyes, confused for a second by the unfamiliar room, then he remembered last night and smiled. He rolled over and reached for Jane, but her side of the bed was empty and cold.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and some moisture into his contacts, he grabbed his watch from the bedside table and squinted to read it. Seven-thirty. He should have been up over an hour ago. But he was having a tough time caring, considering how freaking incredible last night had been.

He'd come here with the expectation of some harmless necking, and thought—or hoped—that if he played his cards right he might cop a feel or two. Well, so much for her so-called lack of confidence with men. He'd been with supermodels who were nowhere close to as comfortable in their own skin as Jane had seemed to be last night. She
had completely blown him away, surpassing by leaps and bounds every preconceived notion he had drawn since she stumbled into his life Monday morning.

The idea of the timid and apprehensive Jane had intrigued him, but the real Jane fascinated and bewitched him.

He shoved himself up out of bed, grabbed his clothes from the floor and got dressed, then followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen.

Jane was sitting at the table, already primped and dressed for work, drinking coffee and working on her laptop.

“Good morning.”

She looked up and smiled. “Good morning. There's coffee. Can I get you a cup?”

“I'll get it,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he walked past. There was already a cup and the creamer waiting on the counter beside the coffee press. “Sorry I conked out like that last night. I don't even remember falling asleep.”

“I figured you were pretty tired.”

“So tired I didn't even take my contacts out,” he said as he fixed his coffee.

“You wear contacts?”

“Since college when I finally ditched the glasses. Without them I'm blind as a bat.” He carried his coffee to the table and sat across from her. Maybe it was his imagination, but there was a weird vibe. Not the typical “morning after” glow. At least not what he would expect after an evening of sex that was, if he was being totally honest, about as good as it ever got.

Jane closed her laptop and pushed it aside. “I wear the kind you can leave in, so I don't have to take them out.”

“Me too, but it feels good to take them out every few
days. Especially when I haven't gotten much sleep.” He sipped his coffee, then set the cup down and asked, “So, is there a reason we're discussing contact lenses and not what happened last night?”

She cradled her cup in her palms, running her thumbs along the brim. “Last night was…
wow.
”

“Yes it was.”

“It meant more to me than you could possibly imagine.”

Oh boy. If she was about to tell him that she loved him he would have a serious problem.

He must have looked uneasy, because she smiled and said, “Don't worry, I'm not picking out china patterns or anything. It's completely the opposite. I feel as if I've been walking around with my eyes closed, and being with you has finally opened them.”

“I'm not sure I follow you.”

“This is a little embarrassing, but, Drake was my first serious boyfriend.”

“Serious, as in…”

“He's the only man I ever slept with. And it was never… Well, let's just say it was
nothing
like last night. I had no idea it could be so…so…”

“Remarkable?”

“
Yes!
All this time I had no idea what I was missing. And if I had married Drake, I never would have known.” She reached across the table and put her hand over his. “For a long time I've just been drifting. I didn't know that there was more to life, so I didn't even bother trying to find something better. Now I feel as if I'm actually ready to move on. Meet new people and take chances. I feel like there's someone out there who can actually make me happy.”

Someone other than him, she meant.

That was harsh. Especially for her, who didn't seem
to have a vindictive or mean bone in her body. Every time he thought he had her pegged, she did something to completely blow his perception. Or was this an act? A part of her cover. Or did she really feel that way? Either way, it worked just fine for him, because he didn't do forever. He didn't even do long-term.

“So what you're saying is you're dumping me. After one night?”

“Come on, Jordan, you can't dump someone that you aren't technically with. I like you. I could probably love you. But there's just no future for us. It's not what you want. You're not a forever kind of guy, and that's what I'm looking for. What I need.”

This was the part when he should be relieved that she was giving him an out, so he wouldn't have to break her heart later. So why instead did he feel…slighted?

“I'm almost thirty. If I'm going to have a family I have to start thinking about settling down. Oh, and speaking of settling down…” she let go of his hand “…look what came in yesterday's mail.”

He took the white card she held out. It was an invitation. For Drake and Megan's wedding. “Wow. How totally inappropriate.”

“I know. What moron thinks it's okay to invite the woman he dumped for his fiancée to the wedding? It defies logic.”

“Not if you're an arrogant ass.”

“I keep thinking about how it must have made Megan feel that he even wanted to invite me. I actually feel sorry for her. Granted, she's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but she's a sweet person.”

“Should I assume you won't be attending?”

“Are you kidding? I won't even justify it with a response. But you're right, I do need to go to the reunion. To show
him that I really don't care about him anymore, because honestly, I don't.”

“I'd still be happy to go as your date.”

“I think this is something I need to do on my own. And under the circumstances, I don't think it would be a good idea. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't like us to be friends.”

How many women had he used a variation of that exact line on? Probably too many to count. To date, he was friends with none of them.

What if he didn't want to be “friends”? What if he wanted more?

As far as he could tell, he had two choices. He could honor her wishes and back off, or he could agree with her, tell her they could be friends, then seduce her anyway.

 

Jane sat at her desk, finishing up a few last minute things so she could meet her family for dinner. She glanced over at Jordan's office. Other than a short lunch meeting, he'd been in there all day with the door shut.

She had been stressing all day, worried that she'd overdone it with her let's-just-be-friends speech that morning. She hoped that by turning him down, she would actually make him want her more. That he would see it as a challenge. Telling him that she was looking for a serious relationship had been a risky move, but she had given it a lot of thought and she was confident it would do the trick.

At least, she was
trying
to be confident. Deep down she was terrified that she had completely blown it. All she could do now was wait for his next move. The ball was in his court.

At six-thirty she shut down her computer, grabbed her coat and purse, then rapped on Jordan's door.

“Come in,” he called, so she opened it. He was at his desk, engrossed in whatever was on his computer screen.

“I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for the night,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, glancing up at her. “I'll see you Monday.”

“See you Monday.” She closed the door, frowning. She had half expected him to mention the date that they were supposed to go on Saturday night, and maybe suggest that they go as friends.

He was taking her brush-off a little too well.

She walked to her car, a knot in the pit of her belly. In her attempt to fix this, had she only made matters worse?

It wasn't until she was at the restaurant, and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door, that she remembered her family hadn't yet seen her new look. The suit and high heels she couldn't do much about, but she could probably slip into the ladies room and remove her makeup before going to the table.

Take off her makeup? What was she, a
child?

No, she was an adult woman who had just as much right to wear makeup as anyone else, and wear whatever clothes she wanted. Whatever weird hold her family still had over her, it needed to stop.

Besides, knowing them, they probably wouldn't even notice.

The hostess took her coat and she walked to the table, where everyone was already seated and had been served drinks. And contrary to what she had anticipated, there were no birthday balloons or banners. No gifts in sight.

Well, that didn't mean they weren't going to celebrate. “Hi everyone. Sorry I'm late.”

Everyone looked up to greet her, and seven jaws dropped in perfect unison.

Okay, so maybe they would notice.

Mary was the first to find her voice. “Oh my God, are you wearing
makeup?
” she asked, as if Jane had just committed some unforgivable crime. Both Mary and her mother were wearing makeup and no one seemed to have a problem with that.

“Yeah, so what?” she said, sliding into the empty chair beside her sister and setting her purse on the floor by her feet.

“What did you do to your hair?” her oldest brother Richard asked.

“I had it styled.” She opened her menu. “Have we decided what we're ordering?”

“What's with the suit?” her brother Will asked. “Did you come from a costume party or something? And where are your glasses?”

A costume party. Nice.

She glared at him. “I traded my glasses in for contacts, and the suit is new.”

“Is this about Drake?” her father asked. “I heard that he's engaged.”

He would have to bring that up. “This has nothing to do with Drake or anyone else. I just felt like I needed a change. And I don't appreciate getting the third degree.”

“Can you blame us for being curious, sweetheart?” her mom said. “We hardly see you, then you come in looking so…different. Sometimes I feel as if I don't even know you anymore.”

Was it too much to expect her family to be happy for her, or at least support her decisions? Why did everything have to be a fight with them? It seemed as though whatever she did lately they saw as a further departure from the fold.

“I think she looks fabulous,” Richard's wife, Cyan, announced, and Jane sent her a grateful smile. “That suit
is super-chic and I love the new hairstyle. The cut and color really complement your complexion and the shape of your face. And the shade of shadow you're wearing really makes your eyes pop.”

Cyan was the owner of a fashion consulting firm that catered to the uber-wealthy and chic, so the compliment really meant something coming from her.

“I think she does too,” Sara piped in. A quiet and unassuming first grade teacher, Will's wife tended to fade into the background during family functions. Sort of like an adorable potted plant. It wasn't easy competing for attention with a bunch of outspoken, power-hungry professionals. Jane knew. She had been trying most of her life, but she lacked the killer instinct. Which is probably why she'd let her family roll over her and make her decisions for her for so many years, and why they felt so threatened now that she was finally gaining her independence.

“I don't think anyone is suggesting that Jane doesn't look good,” her dad said, shooting Sara a look that made her shrink low in her chair. Always pick on the weakest, that was her family's motto. “We're just concerned.”

“Are you having some sort of premidlife crisis?” Richard asked.

“Can we just drop this?” Jane asked.

“You don't have to be such a bitch about it,” Mary mumbled and Jane had the very immature inclination to pull her hair. It was her freaking birthday for God's sake, or at least it had been Tuesday, and not a single one of them had even acknowledged it.

The waiter appeared to take their food orders and along with the lasagna she doubted she would even eat, she ordered a pomegranate martini. After he left, the conversation turned to the family practice, which under
normal circumstances would irritate her, but she was just relieved they were no longer focused on her. She ordered a second martini when the salad was served, then another when the main course arrived. At the rate she was going, she'd have to take a cab home.

She picked at her dinner, trying not to let it depress her that despite what she'd believed, they really didn't plan to celebrate her birthday. Her entire family had forgotten. The minute they had gotten over the initial shock of her new appearance, she was back to being invisible. They didn't even ask her about work, or what she'd been up to.

Jane decided that she would duck out before everyone ordered an after-dinner drink. She opened her mouth to tell them she was going, when behind her someone said, “Jane?”

At the sound of the familiar voice, her heart plummeted. In an instant this dinner went from sad and depressing to her worst nightmare.

She turned in her seat, hoping it just sounded like him, but was actually someone else, and for a second she thought maybe it was. In faded jeans, cowboy boots and a black, untucked shirt with the sleeves rolled up, Jordan looked like a regular guy—albeit a breathtakingly gorgeous one.

“I thought that was you,” he said.

She shot up from her chair. “Jordan…hi.”

This could not be happening. Her undercover assignment did not just walk in on dinner with her
entire
family! “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the bar, having drinks with a friend. I was just getting ready to leave when I thought I saw you sitting there.” He flashed her a grin that made her stomach flop. “Small world, huh?”