The Accidental Mistress (6 page)

Forget it, Lizzie. He doesn’t want marriage and commitment, so you’d better disabuse yourself right now of all notions along those lines. And heck, woman, would you even want to get married if
he
wanted to?

If ever there was a man who came with complications, John Smith was that man.

‘I think I should go home tonight.’

It was what he’d been going to suggest himself, so why did Lizzie’s announcement cut him so hard?

‘Do you really want to? Can’t you stay here?’

Oh, why oh why had he said that?

Way to sound whiny and possessive, man.

He’d made her feel awkward now, he could tell. She was frowning, her smooth white brow puckered beneath the thick black fringe that he adored so much.

‘I’d like to … I really would, John. But I think it’s for the best.’ She reached out across the table they were sitting at, in the Lawns Bar now, and laid her fingers on his hand. Her touch was soft, almost like living light, but it had the old instantaneous effect on him. His cock lurched to erection, sudden and hard, as if she’d reached into his trousers and touched him there instead. ‘This is all so new. I’ve had a wonderful time today … a beautiful time … but I don’t think we should rush too fast. After all, if you add up all the time we’ve spent together, we barely really know each other at all.’

But I want you! I want you right now. And I’ll want you in the night, even if I don’t manage to sleep a wink!

It was the inner voice of the horny, ridiculous young man he’d once been, governed solely by his passions and his cock. The wiser tones of John, the forty-six-year-old who’d made far too many mistakes, told him not to be a petulant idiot. He-man possessiveness had screwed things up for him in the past, and he wasn’t going to let that happen with Lizzie.

‘You’re right … I know … It has been sudden, hasn’t it?’ He scanned her face. Was she disappointed? Did she really
want
the caveman approach, and for him to metaphorically sling her over his shoulder and carry her back to bed for another round of ruthless, banging sex?

It was difficult to tell. She looked a little young and confused, and very sweet. Bless her, she had even less idea of what to do about this thing of theirs than he had. Which was another reason to give her all the space she needed.

Don’t stifle her, you dolt. You know what happened with … with Clara. You were greedy and possessive then, and look what happened.

‘Yes, it has. And then there’s your sleeping thing too. There’s only one room and one bed. We’ll both be shattered if we stay awake all night. Especially …’

A sugar pink blush stained her cheeks. It both enchanted him and made him harder than ever. She was saying that she’d stay awake for him, and with him, if he wanted her to.

His sleeping thing, she’d called it. Now more than ever he wished he could conquer the problem. For over twenty years, since his incarceration, he’d found it impossible to sleep with someone else in the room. No amount of therapy could overcome the way he’d conditioned himself during those long, terrified nights, and he wouldn’t succumb to medication, either. Bewitching as the thought of sleeping in
Lizzie’s arms was, in reality, he’d only ever managed to drift off – for a scant few moments – on a couple of occasions. And then his psyche, memory, call it what you will, had roused him, clanging a red alert. If he consciously attempted to fall asleep with her, it just wouldn’t happen, and if he lay awake beside her warm, tempting, luscious body … well … the inevitable reaction would occur.

They’d probably end up fucking the entire night away.

Which was all very well and thrilling in books, but in practical terms, impossible. Although the thought of it still made caveman-John want to leap over the table and shag her right there on that accommodating wide red leather banquette.

Now it was
his
turn to colour up, and Lizzie grinned as if she’d read his intentions.

He twisted his hand and enfolded hers. The shape of her palm and fingers was so slender and graceful. She had the nimblest touch, as befitted a seamstress, but those fingertips could wreak magic on his flesh with their tricky, delicate ways. His cock throbbed, as if subject to that fantasy caress.

‘I know … and you know what I’m like. I wouldn’t be able to resist you, and then we’d both end up knackered in the morning, when
you
didn’t have to be.’ God, he wasn’t putting this very well, was he? Where was the killer negotiator when he needed him?

Her face was pinker than ever.‘It’s not that I don’t want you, John, because I do … but, well, you’re a very rich and lavish diet for a girl who’s not … um … not used to overindulging. I’ve been living on plainer fare until now.’

A knife of jealousy sliced through him. He didn’t like to think about her prior sexual diet at all. Was she still thinking about Brent? Damn it, he’d told himself he must draw a line
under any thoughts of the men Lizzie had been with before him. Especially her house-mate. But still that atavistic savage inside him growled.

‘You’re a delicious dish for me too, Lizzie. But I know what you mean and you’re right. We need to do this a tad slower … at a pace where we can enjoy the process like grown-ups.’ Her hand still rested in his. Had she trembled? Maybe it was him? Wanting her so badly yet trying to contain himself. ‘And
I
need stop acting like a selfish, greedy sex addict. You’ve got so much more sense than me, love. I need you to keep me in line.’ Her eyes twinkled, and he knew she was thinking of that time back at the mansion sex party, where she had indeed kept him in line. Her instinctive dominatrix skills had taken his breath away. ‘Well, some of the time … occasionally … You know what I mean.’

She smiled. ‘Indeed I do, indeed I do. Sometimes it’s nice to mix things up.’

‘Seriously though. You
are
right. We both need to sleep tonight. Especially …’ He took a deep breath, hating what he had to tell her. This lightning visit up north had been shoehorned into a murderous schedule; he hadn’t thought of anything but seeing her. ‘Well, I have to be in New York the day after tomorrow, love. Something fairly important. I’d put it off, but the negotiations are on a knife edge, and success could lead to a lot of new jobs being created.’

Still the smile, but somehow not as bright. He could see her fighting to be sensible. ‘Jobs where?’

‘Oh, UK jobs … quite a lot of them. Some of them could be in this area, and I know there’s a lot of unemployment,’ he said, impressed by her sharp judgement.

‘Well, that’s excellent. I hope it goes well. It’s a good thing.’ She twisted her hand again, gripping his and bringing
it to her lips, briefly but fiercely. ‘And you should be rested and at your sharpest.’ She released him. ‘Perhaps I’d better be on my way now. Shelley will be expecting me home. I still feel bad about disappearing without telling her.’

‘Let’s finish our drinks, eh?’ He glanced at his gin, and her G&T, finding both unappealing.

Why did he suddenly feel he’d let Lizzie down? Why did he keep on wanting stupid things he knew he simply shouldn’t have?

Why did he suddenly want to take everything about her life, and make it
his
?

‘Do you have nosy neighbours?’

John was walking beside her down St Patrick’s Road, carrying all the bags containing her new goodies, just as if he was a perfectly normal boyfriend walking his perfectly normal girlfriend home after a day at the shops. He’d told the driver of the chauffeured hire car to drop them at the end of the road, and circle round, so they could cover the last bit of the way together on foot. Though he hadn’t mentioned it, or made anything of it, Lizzie wondered about the sudden appearance of a hired driver. She suspected that John never drove himself anywhere now if he’d had a drink.

‘Some of them are a bit like that, though not too bad. They’d probably have noticed a big car rather than a couple on foot, so I doubt if anybody will actually be hanging out of their windows to look at us.’

Unless, of course, they catch a glimpse of
you
, in which case, their eyes will be out on stalks. It’s not often a man who looks like a movie star comes strolling down St Patrick’s Road!

She couldn’t keep her eyes off him, either. She still kept stealing glances to convince herself he was real.

But he wouldn’t be here for long. Soon he’d be in New York, and she’d be back leading her normal life.

Better that way, wasn’t it? Taking things slow? Being sensible? John would be home again in a week, and then they’d have more time.

But it was still going to be tricky. She
did
have a normal life. And now she had John too. How was she going to integrate them both? Her commitments … and her demanding, possessive man? She couldn’t let people down, especially now, when things were going so well at her new job at New Again and with her other sewing work.

John’s return was a beautiful miracle, but it wouldn’t be without complications, that was for sure. But as she snatched yet another quick glance at him, striding along beside her, swinging the carrier bags slightly, and with the light from the newly lit street lamps making his golden hair shine like a halo, Lizzie felt positive.

Dear God, woman, he’s the fantasy of every female who ever had half a hormone! Forget the fucking complications!

By now they were outside her house, number ten, which she shared with Shelley and Brent, about to bid a chaste and polite farewell again.

‘Well, I can’t see any curtains twitching.’ John scanned the houses on either side, then the windows above. ‘Looks like someone’s home upstairs.’

There was a low light glowing in Shelley’s bedroom.

‘That’ll be Shelley. She’s probably reading, or watching YouTube vids on her laptop and cursing at the buffering. Our internet connection is crap.’

Feeling like a nervous teen after her first date, Lizzie felt an urge to scuff her feet, as if an irate parent was going to storm out any minute and catch her with the school bad boy.
‘Well, this’s it, then. I … um … I’d better get in before she looks out of the window. She’s got a sixth sense about these things.’ She held out her hand for the bags.

‘I’ll walk you to the door.’ John’s tone was no nonsense, and he was already halfway up the path before she could stop him.

‘We usually use the back door.’ Lizzie nodded to the dark passageway, half-hidden behind a large shrub, which ran between the garage and the house. John took one look at it, then turned to her, transferring all her bags to one hand and grabbing her hand with his other.

Without a word, and before she could draw her breath, he drew her into the deep gloom of the passageway, masked from the road by the shrub, and beyond the reach of all prying eyes, in a cloak of shadow.

They only got halfway along it.

Without warning, John dropped the bags, and swept Lizzie into his arms, pressing her against the garage wall with his entire body. His lips came down hard on hers, not giving her the chance to protest, even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t.

It was a comprehensive kiss, fierce, rough and complete. His tongue pushed for entrance, filling her mouth, brooking no resistance, owning her. Lizzie stabbed back at him, giving as good as she got, her heart singing, her body alight as if he’d turned a switch. Their awkward farewell had become a bonfire of passion.

Oh yes! Oh yes! No matter how we blunder about doing the ‘get to know you’ dance, this always works. Right out of the gate.

She grabbed at him, hands surging up and down his back, settling on his muscular buttocks, so firm and tight beneath soft denim. When she squeezed, he made a husky sound in
his throat and rocked his pelvis against her. It was impossible
not
to notice that he was rigidly erect, but he seemed intent on making sure she was aware of the fact, just in case.

God, how she loved his cock! She loved the man. That was a given; she couldn’t hide it, and she didn’t want to. But in a different, primal way, she loved his superb body and the fierce thrust of his penis, always so ready. He roused in the blink of an eye and had the staying power of a man half his age.

Rocking and squirming, she rubbed herself against him, trying to work her sex on the knot of his. They were in a dream, a bubble of space and time that had nothing to do with their location and everything to do with their lust. When he pulled up her blue shirt, thrust his hand beneath it and then pushed up her bra to cup her breast, she growled into his mouth, her hips jerking as he thumbed her nipple.

‘You devil,’ she hissed when he freed her mouth, and applied kisses to her face and her throat as he caressed her. She didn’t care; she had the power to berate him, to goad him into all the outrageousness she craved.

He answered by pinching her nipple and, retaliating, she squeezed his bottom hard, digging her fingertips into the cleft.

‘Witch,’ he snarled, sucking hard on her neck as if the darkness had turned him into a vampire.

The clatter of a dustbin lid, in a garden somewhere down the road, froze them. But they didn’t spring apart, and John maintained his grip on her breast.

‘What if Shelley comes out?’ she gasped, saying it, but still not caring, her brain on hold.

‘She won’t.’ John kissed her again, quick and fierce.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I’ve got powers.’

‘I know that.’ She pressed her crotch at him, saluting one of them, and snatching a kiss back from him at the same time. ‘But seriously … we … we … Maybe we could go inside, sneak upstairs?’

‘No, love. That way we’d probably
really
embarrass your friend, because I wouldn’t be able to keep from roaring like the King of the Jungle when I come in your beautiful cunt.’

The blatant words made her body ripple, right in the place he deemed so beautiful. She ached for him. She needed to come. Boy, was she going to have to masturbate tonight, her face buried in the pillow to suppress her moans. She wished they’d stayed at the Waverley. She could have slept on the bathroom rug at a pinch.