The Accidental Mistress (17 page)

Seven-thirty, Room 217, the Sorrel Hotel.

She’d half hoped he’d suggest the Waverley Grange. Then lightning might strike twice, and she’d pull someone as fabulous as Lizzie had. Hardly likely, though, given that the guy she was meeting was an escort.

I still can’t believe you did it, Shell.

But here she was, fifteen minutes away from meeting a man she was going to pay to have sex with her. OK, on the website, she’d actually selected ‘sensual massage’ from a menu of so-called ‘fantasies’, but she supposed they
had
to say that, for legal reasons.

Brent would go nuts. It was his old agency, Indulgence. But it was the only one Shelley had ever actually heard of, and if Brent had been on their books, they must be OK.

And certainly better than the last man she’d been out with, Julian. What a git.

Automatically, Shelley’s lips thinned, something else she knew didn’t look good on her. Slipping out her mirror, she checked her minimal make-up, trying to relax her face. She fluffed her hair a bit, poked her tongue out at herself, and breathed deeply as she straightened her spine.

Tonight is fun. Tonight is all about me. Tonight is … hell, tonight is sex, sex, sex, unless I’ve got it all wrong and sensual massage is just sensual massage!

Taking another long swallow of wine, she breathed deeply while a ribbon of fire curled down into her belly, and beyond. Actually, the dry wine wasn’t at all bad. Perhaps it had aphrodisiac qualities? She was beginning to feel more and more in the mood with every sip.

Oh yeah … So, where’s Mr Sensual Massage, then?

Sholto Kraft. What the hell kind of name was that? It must be made up.

The meeting wasn’t exactly supposed to take place here, but she glanced around the busy, softly lit bar anyway. She’d kind of, sort of hoped she might find him in here first to break the ice. Or that he might find her and introduce himself. A chat would be nice. A chat might make things
easier, especially over a drink or two. They could get to know each other in a safe setting where it’d be easier to do a runner if she needed to.

Scanning the room, she didn’t recognise anyone who looked like his picture on the website, but then, it’d been an arty, shadowy shot, more about showing his rather fab body than his face. If that was even his body at all. Brent said some of the guys cheated, even though he’d always used his own picture.

No, not everybody you picked up in bars or in hotel rooms was going to be a looker like darkly handsome Brent, or have the sheer drop-dead movie star glamour that Lizzie’s John did. Not that he was an escort, and anyway, Shelley wasn’t quite sure she fancied the idea of getting involved with a chap twenty years her senior, even if he did look like a worldly-wise angel.

But Lizzie seemed to adore him, and you couldn’t fault the guy for generosity. Not everybody would lavish you with high-speed broadband, a deluxe digital telly package, and a huge great television to watch it on, just because you were the
friend
of their girlfriend!

But, back to her own prospective, if temporary, man. And so far, nothing. No click of unspoken recognition. No suave sexy approach by ‘Sholto’. No broken ice, or first hurdle hopped over. Surely an experienced escort could spot his client easily in a place like this? Her sense of anticipation – and nerves – must be screaming out.

There were plenty of men drinking alone at this early evening cocktail hour. Muted conversation hummed, but it seemed to be business mostly. Attaché cases abounded. Sharp, corporate ties were already loosened.

Shelley shifted on her seat, heating up from the wine, and
excitement. She still couldn’t tell whether it was an alarming sensation, or a thrilling one, but she was prepared to stick with it for a little while yet.

Before the night’s out, I’ll probably be in bed with a man, doing the wild thing, his cock inside me.

Vibrators were fun, but they didn’t come with a man attached to them, and in a shared house, you had to wait until the others had gone out. A man could kiss you afterwards as if he cared, even if he didn’t, and had a warm, willing body to give you a hug, even if it was just paid for.

Cautiously rubber-necking around, she still couldn’t see anyone who looked like the website picture. None of them looked at her with that promising smile she was hoping for.

But then, a man
did
glance her way, just for a second. A hard-faced, craggy man with brutally short, dark blond hair and startling eyes, light coloured but piercing. He looked away before she could ‘click’ with him, and continued his perusal of a newspaper. He had a closed attaché case set in front of him on a low table, but he was no groomed cosmopolitan male. He was wearing a rough-looking leather jacket, black t-shirt and black jeans tucked into low, soft leather boots.

No, definitely not Mr Sholto ‘Sensual Massage’ Kraft. Too threatening. Too aloof. He looked far more like one of those guys who was into kink, a bit like Lizzie’s John, and his icy gaze had accidentally traversed the space she occupied and then dismissed her.

Irrationally angry, Shelley drank the rest of her wine and slid off the stool. She didn’t like the bar any more, and she wanted to get out of it, even though she’d found the ambience exciting when she’d first entered. She flung down a note to
pay for her drink and walked out into the foyer, head held high. A lift was opening up and she darted forward to take it.

I could still just go home.

‘How cosy is this, eh?’ said John

Lizzie grinned at him, her eyes teasing as they clinked their Champagne glasses. The fish and chips were long gone, and had been so good he’d almost sighed, and now they were watching the television, he with his legs stretched out like the man of the house, and Lizzie tucked up next to him, snuggled against his shoulder.

It was so normal. Like nothing he’d experienced since university days, when he’d shared a scruffy house with other students. He’d had no idea until now how much he’d missed it.

‘It’s great,’ he said, imagining how they might share the same togetherness at Dalethwaite too. It was a big house, and beautiful, but also homely. Nothing to say they couldn’t have fish and chips in front of the telly there too, sometimes.

‘We don’t normally have Champers with our chips, though, but I must admit, they do go together. You won’t mind if I share the second bottle with the others one night, would you?’

No. He didn’t mind. No, he didn’t … did he?

‘Go ahead, love. They might get a taste for it.’ He paused, half watching the screen, a Victorian police drama, and pretty good. Why didn’t he watch more television? ‘Fish and chips and Champagne is a perfect combo, don’t you think? It’s sort of like how life should be, don’t you think? A bit of luxury, and a bit of keeping it real too.’

Lizzie remained silent for a few moments, her eyes on the screen. In the low light of just the television and a table
lamp, her profile looked perfect and pure, like a Renaissance masterpiece. His cock stirred lazily, but not insistently. It was OK to get aroused, but be quiescent too, keeping it real but enjoying the thing of beauty.

‘Yes … I think you’re right,’ she said at length, ‘that makes sense.’ Her lips curved in a wise little smile.

The Victorian programme came to an end and they discussed it. He loved the way Lizzie was excited by the well-researched nature of the plot, and raised a few points he’d not been aware of. Smart as a whip, she constantly surprised him. He imagined her at a dinner party, holding her own in the toughest of rooms, charming everybody with her dazzling natural beauty and her sense of fun. She could exist in his world, probably far better than he’d manage in hers, and he wanted to show her off.

But did she
want
to be shown off?

‘You’re into all sorts of things, aren’t you?’ he said as she flicked through channels with the remote, rejecting trash with a discerning ruthlessness.

‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ She turned to him, her eyes narrowing a little. ‘I’m not just some kind of dropout bimbo, you know. Just because I look like Bettie Page, it doesn’t mean I don’t have a mind. And Bettie wasn’t dim, either. She was an intelligent woman who knew how to use her natural gifts.’

‘I never said you were dim, did I?’ he protested, instantly feeling guilty, in case, by some fault of his own he’d inadvertently made her feel that way.

Lizzie laughed. ‘No, don’t worry! You haven’t.’ She squeezed his thigh in a way that he knew was just supposed to be reassuring, but which made his cock lurch alarmingly. Thank God she wasn’t looking south. ‘It’s just me … I do
have a bit of a chip on my shoulder sometimes, because I left university, and most of my contemporaries stayed on, and got degrees and good jobs. Some of them
do
look down on me. But I just couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t hack it.’

Curiosity overcame the beast in him. He ignored his erection, burning to know what had happened. Why someone so bright, and who seemed so well adjusted, had chosen such a course.

‘Why was that? I mean … only if you want to talk about it, Lizzie. But clearly you’re a smart, intelligent woman. I would have thought you’d have breezed through.’

Muting the television, she turned in his arms, and looked straight at him. In doing so, she pulled away a little, and something in him cried out, at the closeness lost.

‘I don’t do well in groups. I hate “structures”. Regimes … you know? I could have done the work but I didn’t like
having
to do it.’ She frowned, and he wanted to reach out and gently caress her forehead, beneath her sleek black fringe, and smooth away what had caused the hurt and the unhappiness. ‘It’s all pressure, expectation. Either from academia itself or just from my father. He wanted me to be like my sisters. Even though they’re younger than me, they were both enthusiasts at school, and he could see something in them that was lacking in me. They’ve both ended up doing fabulously at uni …’ She shrugged, and leaned down to put aside her glass. He did the same, and reached for her hand. ‘Me being a bit of a drifter by his standards, doing a bit of sewing and temping and even waitressing in my time … well, he considers that I’ve wasted the education he lavished on me.’

John wanted to shake this as yet un-met father of hers. Give him a stern talking to. ‘That’s unfortunate. Surely he must see that you have other gifts. That you excel in many
areas. The academic world isn’t for everybody. I learnt far more when I’d left uni than while I was there.’

‘He’s resigned to it now. In fact, he’s accepted it quite well, and we get on much better. I know it’s a battle for him, but he always makes a point of asking me about sewing when I visit now.’ She laughed softly, and his heart turned over. Always she impressed him. For all she’d said about chips on shoulders, he sensed no real bitterness or resentment in her.

But at the same time, he thought again about that dinner party. That world was structured in its way. She
could
fit in. She had the charm and grace. But would she want to? Should he even think about imposing it on her? Ever …

As he leaned forward, and kissed her lightly, he was befuddled. Why did he keep on thinking ‘for ever’? He wanted it, in some way, shape or form, but was it fair on her? Especially given the difference in their ages. When she responded to his kiss he was momentarily frozen.

She’d spoken of her father, and being the eldest.

Good God, what if he’s younger than I am?

Dressed or undressed?

Answer the door or ‘Enter!’? Drink or no drink?

Decisions, decisions, decisions, decisions!

Shelley stared out across the rooftops of the city centre. The hotel was high rise, so from here she could see quite a lot of it. The shopping centre. The Piazza, down by the canal. Borough Hall and the library nearby. The familiar yet unfamiliar sights calmed her. She’d never seen it all from this angle before.

This was her treat. There was no need to stress. She was in charge here; it was her entertainment, her pleasure, all paid for. This was no accidentally blundering into a relationship, like Lizzie; this was under control. And if she ended up just wanting a massage, that was all she had to have. In fact, a massage sounded good! Her shoulders were rigid and her stomach was in knots, but Sholto the Sensual Massage Guy would soon set that to rights.

She took off her dress and slipped into the big fluffy robe she’d found in the bathroom. Then immediately flung that
off and wriggled back into her frock.

For pity’s sake! What did I just say about not stressing?

She eyed the mini bar. No, not yet, why spoil the night by getting wasted?

‘Fuck!’ She laughed, remembering that was exactly what she’d
planned
, despite her qualms.

The man in the bar had got under her skin, she realised. Arrogant pig, dismissing her like that. Well, his loss. At least her massage man would be attentive and flattering, even if all the niceness was bought and paid for.

For the duration of the date, she’d imagine it was real. No harm in that.

Settling down on the side of the bed, she swung her legs up on to the duvet and settled back against the mass of white pillows, savouring their depth and fluffiness. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, sinking, sinking, sinking.

A cool, craggy, dismissive face appeared in her mind, and as she shot up straight again, there was a soft knock at the door.

Answer, call out, answer, call out?

Springing to her feet she bounded for the door barefoot, her heart giddy in her chest. She flung back the door far more energetically than she meant to, and as it bounced on its hinges, she met a pair of green eyes staring back at her. The green eyes that’d dismissed her, belonging to the man from the bar, who was all attention now.

‘Oh, it’s you!’

Oh great, Shelley, really convince him you’re a dummy.

‘Yes, indeed, it’s me.’

The ice melted with his smile and his eyes were warm, a clear golden green. Though the rest of him was pretty stunning too, close up. Not much like his online photos, but
even more to Shelley’s taste, brawny and muscular. Just the way she liked them!