The Other Woman (33 page)

Her head drops back and her breathing becomes as labored as mine as I stroke harder.

“Want me to stop?” I ask between kisses.

“No! Yeah…no…no…oh, God!”

What we're doing is crazy. Anyone could come in and see us, but I can’t help it. I’ve gone mad. Dunhill mad.

Suddenly, I have to have Rival. Now. I grab her arms and drag her upstairs to a bathroom that offers a little privacy.

“No, Ritchie, no!”

Ignoring her protests, I lock the door and lunge to kiss her.

“Somebody might see us,” she protests, even though she kisses me back.

“I can see them all,” I say, my neck jerking toward the bathroom window that gives us a full view of the pool. I free my erection, spin her around over the sink and pull down her jeans.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say as I yank back her hips and position her for my thrust.

“Hurry up, then!” she says as she leans her arms over the sink and balances on her toes.

I thrust deep into her, and like last night, she feels magnificent, glorious, and I’m ready to burst almost immediately.

Her strangled moans, the way she shoves her beautiful arse back into me, the way she reaches around to touch my arse, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, spurs me on. I reach around for her tits, clutch onto them, and rut into her.

“Hurry!” she says.

I release one of her breast to press against her clit, and immediately, I feel a series of pulses. While her pussy clamps down on my dick, her whole body clenches. As she comes, so do I, and even the sound of the pool gate opening doesn’t change the intensity of my orgasm.

For a few seconds, I lie slumped over her, my breath ragged.

“Get off me!” she says, shrugging me off, obviously having heard the creak of the pool gate that Bear refuses to fix, claiming it serves as an alarm for wandering children.

I withdraw from her, pull up my swim trunks, and race downstairs to the TV room where I flop onto a couch and watch Scar sing to hyenas about a warthog’s backside. I had no idea I could move so fast.

****

RITCHIE

“What you up to?” Liefie asks, her eyes scanning the room.

“Oh, just chilling a bit,” I say, trying hard to control my voice. “Need some me time away from the kids.” More words than I’ve spoken to her in a long time. “I love
The Lion King.
”

When she doesn’t answer, I force myself to look directly at her. “Problem?”

She looks behind her, then back at me. After a slight hesitation, she shakes her head and starts to leave.

Whew
!

“Oh, well,” I quickly say in what I hope is a casual voice. “Might as well join the others.” My reasoning is that if I leave the house with Liefie, there’s a lesser chance of anyone suspecting anything.

Before she can answer, I fall in line with her and together we stroll out of the kitchen.

About ten minutes later, Rival emerges. This time we don’t look at each other.

I’m going crazy. This has to stop. Yesterday, I admit I was weak, but now, it’s different. I’m back in control, and from now on, I will only see Rival when someone is in the room.

I will not visit her at home or be alone with her. I can do this. I’m Ritchie MacMillan, I can do anything. (My mum told me that, and I believe her.)

“And Ritchie’s band was such a hit with the girls,” Arena says to Liefie.

“Really?” Liefie says, “I didn’t know you were in a boy band, Ritchie.”

I shrug, my face turning red. “Arena, do you have to tell them all—”

“His favorite song was ‘Ice Ice Baby.’”

“Aw, c’mon, Arena,” I say. “Who needs a mother to embarrass them when I have you?”

She laughs and continues. “His favorite bit was ‘A’right stop, collaborate and listen!’
And my two girl friends and I had to sing back-up and dance with them.”

I glance at Rival – she’s falling around with laughter. Nice.

“He had my mother make him a waist coat, a black one, and he spiked his hair to look like Vanilla Ice, and we all had to call him ‘Vanilla With a Nine’ for months. He
insisted
on it.”

“C’mon, give us a demo, boy!” Bear shouts.

I point at Arena. “Don’t let me tell them how you stole Ma’s funnels, stuck them in your top, and performed like Madonna in front of the mirror, okay?”

Arena clams up as everyone howls with laughter.

“And how you wore my grey church suit and sang ‘Express Yourself’
in Pa’s garage among all his spare car parts?”

“Shaddup, Ritchie!” Arena says with an embarrassed laugh.

About half an hour later, when Rival starts to leave with her kids, I find myself sidling up to her. “Where you going?” I whisper.

“Home,” she mouths.

“Why?”

She shrugs and peeps at me from her lashes, and when she does, my resolve simply dissolves. “I’ll see you at eight,” I hear myself saying.

Her eyebrows shoot up.

“Business,” I say in a sheepish voice.

“Why not sooner?”

“Gotta visit Bradley first.” I’m actually visiting Scarlett with her attorney, but I am loath to say this to Rival for fear she may get mad at me.

“Ah.” With her eyes to the floor and a secret smile on her face, she leaves.

For a while, I stand and stare at the receding taillights of the car.

Ritchie, what the hell are you doing?

****

RITCHIE

“It’s Rival, Ritchie,” Scarlett says to her attorney and me. “I’m telling you, it’s her.”

“Okay.” I fight for a calm voice, even though a bolt of fear zaps through me. “But why do you say that?”

“She’s angry, Ritchie. She won’t take responsibility for her actions and blames everyone around her for her failures.”

Failures? My nod is reluctant.

“Here’s my theory: she installed some spy cameras, had been watching us, and knew exactly when to strike. She knows Mabel’s house, and she broke in and set us up.”

“Why Mabel’s house?” Evan Harcourt, Scarlett’s attorney, asks.

“Mabel talks,” Scarlett says. “This way, the entire neighborhood will get to know what happened, and we will lose face.”

As Scarlett speaks, my forehead blisters with sweat. Could Rival really have done all of this? Could she be as calculating as Scarlett says?”

“I know she’s friendly with your sister.”

My eyes fly to Scarlett’s. “And…?”

“Well, I’m just saying. Wondering how it’ll influence you when you are—”

“Scarlett, Bradley is my friend. My loyalty lies with him. If you think for one moment you can’t trust me…” I slam my file shut.

“No, no, I’m not saying that. I’m just thinking out loud. A bit paranoid after what happened to me, Ritchie. You understand, right?”

“Yep. I do.”

Her eyes bore into me, which makes me shift in my seat.

“I rely on you because I know that friends help each other. I mean, I once helped you out with Olga, remember?” Her voice is measured, restrained, and I find myself suitably threatened.

“Scarlett…” I shake my head, angry at the subtle blackmail. “There’s no need for you to remind me of that.”

Her face suddenly cracks into a smile. “Sorry, Ritchie. I’m just so stressed.”

I fall silent, and Harcourt and Scarlett discuss her bail hearing. By the time I leave the jail, my gut burns, my brows stay fused, and I think about securing the services of an attorney for Rival. Scarlett is by far the sharpest woman I have ever encountered. She should be running for prime minister, not Bradley.

Rival, what have you done? How could you think you could take on a bitch like Scarlett?

****

RIVAL

My body hums at the thought of Ritchie visiting me tonight, of an encore. When I close my eyes, I see him above me, hear his guttural groans when we become one, and almost immediately, I feel a silkiness between my thighs.

I take a leisurely shower, slather body butter all over myself, and dress with him in mind – silk, navy robe, a pair of navy and black lace panties, and a generous spritz of Coco Channel. No bra.

Ritchie arrives at 8 p.m., shortly after my kids fall asleep, carrying a dozen red roses.

“Hope this makes up for the one I didn’t leave on your pillow this morning,” he says.

With a smile, I accept the roses and put them to my nose. “Beautiful, just like you,” I say.

Two cute dimples form in his cheek. I step aside for him to enter.

After placing the roses in a vase, I pour him a drink and hand it to him. As he reaches for it, I pull it back. He looks at me, eyebrows raised. I close my eyes and pucker my lips.

With a smile, he plants a soft but lingering kiss on my lips. “Business first,” he says, stepping away from me.

“Aw, c’mon!”

“Rival, I’ve just been to see Scarlett and she…she is convinced you are behind it. She wants me to scan the place for spy cameras.”

With a pout, I move back and hoist myself up on the island of my kitchen counter. “Okay.”

“If I don’t deliver, they will employ a professional to case the place and—”

“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands. “I planted cameras.”

His head lolls. “I can’t believe it,” he mutters.

I blow out my cheeks.

He looks up at me. “The money?”

I look away, then at him. “How much did he steal from me, Ritchie? I bore him two kids, spent countless days and nights raising his children so that he could have the career he wanted, went without in the early days of our marriage, and never complained. Now he steals
everything
and gives it to another woman? You want to chide me over a lousy fifty-odd grand that he was hiding from the tax man?” I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “Go ahead.”

“I’m not chiding you, baby,” he says in a soft voice, cupping my face with both his hands. “I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I care, Rival.”

“You do?” I place my hands over his and smile.

“Yes, I really do. And I’m trying my best to sort it out, but I worry you will get into trouble, that’s all. I don’t know if you can handle the stress of this investigation.”

“I can, Ritchie,” I say. “If I crumble, it’ll be worth it.”

He stares at me for a few moments before he says, “Let’s just get rid of the cameras. How many of them?”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen!”

I nod.

“Where did you get them from?”

“Um…your…garage?”

“Whaaaaat?”

I hang my head. “Sorry.”

“You…you…
used
me.”

“I didn’t
use
you Ritchie. I was just …in need, okay? I’m sorry. Really I am.”

“Rival, what would have happened had Bradley engaged the services of another investigator, huh?”

I shrug, then open and close my thighs. “Guess I need you then.”

His frown fades, his eyes darting between my face and my thighs. “What else?”

“That’s it. I planted some cameras and – Ritchie, this is all so boring. Can’t we talk about something else?” I say from under my lashes.

“Rival, this is serious shit. Let’s go get—”

“Okay, okay!” I slide off the counter and lead him to the cameras.

Once we remove all thirteen of them, we go back to the kitchen where I return to my seat on the island.

“What about the burglary?” he asks.

I give a series of shrugs, my gown slipping off my shoulders and giving him a good view of my cleavage. “Not me.”

“Not you?”

I shake my head. “Not me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I cock my head and look at him. “You were really sexy last night. And earlier on.” Again, I open and close my thighs.

“What…about…the…the…the jewelry? Stop it!”

I laugh at his discomfort.

“Well, I think you may be lying, but I don’t want to know. That way, I can’t tell lies to my friend who is relying on me to help him …Rival!”

I giggle and flex my index finger at him. “I wanna tell you something in your ear,” I say in a husky voice.

“No,” he says, even though he walks over and stands between my open thighs.

I hook my heels behind his thighs and draw him closer. “Kiss me.”

“No. We have to fin—”

“Kiss me and I will tell you more.”

He leans in and plants a light kiss on my lips.

“That’s not a kiss – kiss me so that I feel it between my thighs.”

After looking at me for a moment, he puts his arms around me and slips his tongue into my mouth.

“Who are you?” he asks when he surfaces for breath.

“I go by a number,” I whisper. Using my finger, I write the number sixty-nine on his chest.

With an audible gasp, he scoops me up and runs upstairs to the spare bedroom, where he places me on the floor and drops his body weight on mine. “Who I thought you were, and who you really are…” He shakes his head.

“And that makes me intriguing?”

“And that makes you…
fucking
intriguing. I’ve never met such a bad girl before,” he says as he touches my forehead with his.

He eyes the bruise on my neck and frowns, before he gently kisses it. “Can’t believe I did that.”

“You did,” I say, and point to the bruise on my breasts.

He presses his lips to those bruises. I point to the bruise on my stomach. Gently, he kisses that too, then moves to the bruises on my thighs and my ankles.

“Did I miss a spot?”

I nod and point to my lips. With a smile he kisses them.

“You’re just beautiful,” he whispers between kisses.

His words are like water to a person suffering from a drought – my husband left me for another woman. A thinner, younger, more attractive woman – I
need
to hear these words from a sexy, exciting, gorgeous man like him.

“Now,” he says, “what number do you go by again? Then for the third time in twenty-four hours, we fuck, to my delight.