The Passionate Mistake (10 page)

Her hand stole out, independent of her thinking mind, and settled into his where it rested on the table. He accepted the gesture instantly, wrapping his
own large hand around hers and holding it gently.

“Jazz sounds fine to me. But let me wash
the dishes for you first. And I’ll need to grab a change of clothes from my car. It’s parked back at the Singhs’ house.”

“I’ll
have a shower, then I’ll drop you off there.”

“Perfect.”

He let her gather up their plates and glasses, a tokenistic gesture as he showed her where the dishwasher was and piled rinsed cooking utensils on the bench above while she tried to figure out the best way to stack the dishes inside it. In the end he’d done as much of the dishes as she, but he did it almost automatically then disappeared into his bedroom.

A moment later he leaned out of the doorway, strong hand gripping the lintel to maintain his balance.

“Heads up,” he called out, and pitched a wad of folded cotton cloth in her direction. She caught it and shook it out. It was a T-shirt, plain white and new-looking, and wrapped up in it the red dress he must have taken from the chair back where she had left it.

“Too small for me, but I thought it might look good with a red skirt
,’ he said with a twinkle, then disappeared out of sight. She realized he meant for her to put the shirt over the dress, and quickly stepped out of the robe and whipped the two items on, feeling exposed in front of the plate glass. It might not win awards for style but it was a better outfit for the daytime; he was right.

Dressed, ready to go apart from her bare feet,
she stood lost in the middle of the huge room, adrift without him there. After a moment she padded over the soft carpet to the bookshelves that lined the wall to one side of the kitchen. Here surely was some further clue to Mike’s character. Boss, lover and now leisure-time Mike. She dropped to her knees to get a better look, smiling as she recognized the programming textbooks that could have come from her own shelves; science fiction too, though not much of it; and some fantasy. He really was a geek. She ran a finger over the tops of the books. No dust. He must have one hell of a housekeeper, to keep this giant place so spotless. Little as she’d be shown so far, the cavernous proportions and the descending roofline she could see through the window hinted at mansion-like proportions; A monster of a house for a single man.

When he strode into the room she was sprawled on a couch, her nose in a
book she’d discovered: the newest by her favorite author.

“Hey,” he said, catching sight of her.

“Hiya.” She took in the polo-neck shirt and linen pants in a single glance. Effortlessly stylish, classically masculine. His dark hair was still damp, swept back off his forehead. He looked even tastier than his omelet. She could eat him up.

When his gaze heated she realized she was mentally undressing him and telegraphing her thoughts with a sensual, heavy-lidded gaze and smirk.

“So, are we still going out?”

“Yes, yes,” she said hurriedly, rolling off the couch and standing.

“Because if you’d prefer to go straight back to bed I can oblige.”

She paused, pretended to consider the idea, sauntered to him and ran a hand over his abdomen, leaning in slightly to enjoy the scent of soap and freshly-washed man. His eyes glinted, loaded with sexual knowledge. He leaned in to kiss her but she stopped him with a single finger laid on his lips.

“I’d love to. We’ll go walking, enjoy your jazz festival, then come back and crawl into bed.”

“Why wait?” he growled, wrapping his arms around her
, bringing her hips close to his so she could feel his burgeoning arousal press against her. She savored the sensation for a brief moment, the heady power of rousing him so quickly, so easily. Then she twisted out of his arms and danced away, light on her feet and faintly mocking as she said:

“I wouldn’t want you to get bored now.”

“Bored? I doubt it,” he snorted, stalking her with lustful intent.

She shrieked and ran, laughing, back to the entryway, fumbling at the front door latch and crying out as he caught her and spun her around, pressing her up against the wall and
kissing her with single-minded fervor, his tongue plunging into her mouth.

She returned the kiss with interest, rubbing up against him like a cat, her arms wrapped around his neck. She was breathing heavily when she broke away, her nipples hardened and knees weak. It was difficult to recall why she wanted to go out at all.

But she was stubborn, and determined not to be swayed from a plan, even one so recently made. Feminine instinct directed her to keep him off balance, demand his indulgence. Drive him a little mad; a madness to match her own internal unsteadiness.

“We’re going out,” she said imperiously. “Open the door.”

He looked down at her, pinned against the wall by the thrust of his pelvis, considered her, his eyes scanning her face. With one hand he reached out, unlatched and opened the door, letting it swing wide.

“Are you a tease, Kate?” he asked, a smile still hovering at his mouth. But she saw the sternness in his eyes, behind the veneer of good
humor. He was not a man to be pushed around.

And again operating on instinct she was honest, looking him dead straight in the eye with no smile on her face.

“Not usually. Usually I just take what I want, and offer only what I want to give. No more. Maybe I’m scared how much I want you. Maybe you make me a little crazy.”

For a moment he weighed her words, and the open door felt like a threat of rejection. Then he relaxed, shook his head ruefully and stepped away and out of the house, saying over his shoulder, “Yeah. I can understand that feeling.”

There was a door in the wall behind the bamboo thicket, almost hidden from sight. He punched a number into the keypad there and stepped through into a garage. Lights came on at his entrance. A couple of low-slung, gleaming machines lurked inside, the epitome of machismo vehicles. She looked from the cars to him, and was surprised to see him appear vaguely uncomfortable.

“So this is what you like to drive?”

Again he was rueful. “I achieved some big financial goals all at once, and thought I should spend the money on the sort of things people like to buy: A big, flash house, fast cars, designer clothes . . . I even have a boat. Turns out they’re not that satisfying. But I have them now, so I should use them.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and the sound of car doors unlocking punctuated his statement. “Actually I prefer to walk.” He opened the passenger door and gestured her in.

She slid into the leather-covered bucket seat and smoothed her hands over the luscious padding on either
side of her thighs. “Mmm, nice,” she said. The interior smelt new, as if it was fresh out of the show room; which it probably was.

He climbed in next to her, inserted the key and pressed a couple of buttons. The garage door ascended silently. Then he revved the engine and she looked up to see him watching her out of the corner of his eyes, a grin on his face. She laughed, tipping her head back against the headrest.

“Okay then big boy. Show me what she can do.”

He eased his way out of the garage and turned cautiously into the street after double checking both ways. After he had rounded his second corner at a snail’
s pace she turned to him accusingly

“You drive like a nana!”

“Actually my grandmother drives faster. This thing is damned scary if you put your foot down. Fine for the open road but I don’t want to be bowling pedestrians.”

She looked out the window,
her shoulders shaking in a small, silent laugh.

“Oh, here’s my car,” she told him belatedly as they drove right past it. He braked and executed a five-point turn
on the narrow road to get back to it.

It did not take long to put
on the shorts and top she had in a bag in her back seat. Mike waited, parked behind her. She considered pulling her hair into a ponytail then decided leaving it rioting around her shoulders was the wisest choice; less like Cathy. She had to take a few deep breaths before she felt ready to leave the familiar safety of her small Japanese import and walk the short distance back to him.

She was on tenterhooks as she slid in beside him, waiting for him to recognize
his employee in her casual clothes. But he just gave her a sweet smile and started the engine, pulling away carefully from the curb.

Did he never look at Cathy? Or had she truly created a completely different woman
with a change of clothes, makeup and hair color? Did he only see what he expected to see?

She was wearing a
diaphanous drape over a tight aqua singlet, shorts that went to mid-thigh and a couple of trendy accessories, packed as a just-in-case with this morning in mind. Her sandals matched the over-the-shoulder handbag she had thrown in at the last minute. She knew she looked good, and felt confident enough to go almost anywhere in the outfit. And truly it was a dramatic difference from the baggy and dull-colored Cathy-clothes.

Or p
erhaps she was a better actress than she had imagined.

The waterfront was crowded
so they had to park some distance up the hill. As they walked toward the crowd he took her hand, swinging it slightly to match their stride. She liked that; liked the dry warmth of it, the faint calluses. She wondered what caused them. Not tapping away on a keyboard. Maybe it was from the company gym, on the same floor as his office. He had good muscle tone unusual in an office worker.

The veins that roped across the back of
his hands were fascinating to her fingers. She stroked them lightly with her other hand as they stood waiting for the walk signal at the traffic light, surprised by the yielding softness of them, a contrast to everything else about his body.

They wandered companionably from one area to another, listening to the performers and
watching-people. Kate bought a sunhat as the sun climbed higher in the sky, to protect her face and shoulders. They chose ice-cream cones and traded licks with each other, then walked along the promenade and around to the next bay – which was virtually unoccupied – when the crowds grew too thick for comfort.

As they went they talked companionably, discovering shared interests and a mutual dislike of green-lipped mussels, auto correct and people
who didn’t pick up the messes their dogs left.

Most of all they laughed. He said such amusing things. She thought of herself as quite serious but with him it was difficult to keep a straight face. He didn’t hesitate to share an embarrassing momen
t if the story was a funny one.

She was happy to be with him.
The sensation was odd and intense. She didn’t understand the dramatic mood swing from the desperation of the early hours of the morning. It must be something about him. It was hard to hold on to angst when he was around; much easier to push it all aside and bask in the warm glow of him.

She was surprised as she considered
it. Carefree, with no obligations and no one to answer to, on this unexpectedly shared morning outing.

It wasn’t a comfortable admission, but she had grown unused to
the sensation. Beyond the situation of working in DigiCom, working in the family firm had also been tense and at times outright painful. It was a stressful environment and she had wedded herself to it so firmly . . .

Her only escape was university study and there she was driven, focusing on being the best, being perfect, with no time to make new friends.

She must have been wearing blinders.

How had she let her personal life diminish so much? How had it all fallen away, so she couldn’t remember the last time she had walked with a friend, laughed over a meal and enjoyed the sunshine?

It crept up on one.

In one of the
small silences between her and Mike she considered the situation, weighed up the past weeks and months and found a pattern of self-neglect that embarrassed her to admit, even to herself.

She was in a painful rut and it wasn’t serving her. No wonder she had been willing to try the challenge of industrial espionage. At least it was a change. She had been longing for a change;
itching
for one. Yet she had held herself back from determining her own path, instead following where Dad led. Doing as she was told and cramping her life down into a frantic little box.

It was past time to carefully, deliberately make some choices. Better ones than she had been making.

Chapter Eleven

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“I was just thinking.” He let the silence linger until she went on: “I’m enjoying this. It was a good idea. Of course I’m sure we could have amused each other in various other ways,” she traced a line back and forth over the back of his hand with a single index finger, casting a wicked glance at him under her eyelashes, “but this has been fun.”

He leaned back against the wall that rose behind their bench seat, sliding his hand out from under her finger and cupping the back of her neck, thumb drawing little circles on the sensitive skin there. She sighed and tilted her head back, the tension draining out of her muscles.

“There’s something about the sea air, the water. It’s good for the soul.” There were yachts scudding about on the harbor in the light breeze. The surface was ruffled, reflecting the bright blue of the sky.

“Healing,” she agreed with a slow nod.

“If you’re injured.” Again his silence was an invitation. He was so easy to talk to, even for a person as guarded as she.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot going on lately.
Family stuff. And work has been very . . . stressful. Demanding.”

“With the software roll out?”

Whoops. “We’re not rolling it out yet. It’s still in development. In a few more months maybe.”

“I still get wound up over new releases. The process is pretty smooth these days, but the public domain is the real test. Is it going to sink or swim? It makes me antsy for weeks.”

“So how long have you worked for your company?”

“I started it eleven years ago now
.”

“
You
started it? I thought . . .”

He looked at her with his eyebrows raised, and she hurried to cover her exclamation: “Eleven years is a long time! You must have been very young.”

He looked back out to sea, and she released the breath she was holding.

“I didn’t think so at the time, but I look back now and think . . . well, I’ve learnt a lot of lessons in the past decade, that’s for sure.”

“Did you start it by yourself?”

“I had a partner who was great at marketing, and my parents offered us financial backing. Mum handled the financial side of things for a few years, until it got really big. I’d read a successful company needs someone to handle finance, someone for marketing, and a great idea, and I thought ‘Hey, I can pull those things together and make it fly.’”
He made a gesture with his hand that was reminiscent of a plane taking off.

“And it did f
ly?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

“Hell yeah.
We had some turbulence but on the whole it’s been great.”

“So what happened to your partner? You said you had one, past tense,” she
added when he looked at her, an eyebrow raised in enquiry.

“We had a parti
ng of the ways quite recently. She wanted us to get into data mining software, and it’s not really my thing.”

“Oh, really?” she asked softly
, the ‘she’ making her prick up her ears.

“
Mmmm. Long run she’s probably right: everyone will be doing it soon and it’s the way of the future. But frankly I don’t trust the ethics of every big corporation, and I don’t want to be part of handing them the tools to monitor users so they can try and empty their pockets. It just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“There’s a lot of money to be made there,” she said noncommittally
, chills going up and down her spine so she wanted to shiver despite the heat.

“Sure enough.
But money isn’t everything.” He ran an absent hand through his hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. “There’s no point swimming in cash if I don’t admire the person I have to live with 24/7.”

“So you said goodbye to your partner of eleven years over the issue?”

“We were both pretty determined. So I bought her out and she’s gone off and started another company and is going ahead with the data mining, last thing I heard.”

“Do you keep in touch?”

“Not really. Things got pretty heated and we both said some stuff. Maybe in a few years when it’s all settled down we’ll be friends again. We’ve known each other a long time.”

Kate mulled this over, her gut churning. How could her
dad have got it so wrong? DigiCom was Mike’s company. His baby. Run by a man who put ethics ahead of profit. Ahead of friendship too.

Inevitably she drew the parallels, saw her actions in the light that a man with such perspectives must.

He was going to hate her once he found out. He would think her completely vile.

She sucked in a harsh breath and he glanced at her then tilted his whole body towards her in concern.

“Are you okay. Kate? Is something wrong?”

She stared fixedly at the horizon, eyes blind to the beautiful view.
“I’m not feeling so good.”

“Is there something I can get you?”

“No, nothing. But we better get back.”

“I can go get the car if you want, while you stay here.”

“That’s kind but no, I’ll be fine. Let’s just go, hmmm?” She was already standing, and now she walked away with her arms wrapped around her middle, where she could feel that dreadful hollowness of grief and regret.

God.
Oh God, what
had
she done?

She tried to redirect her thinking, to focus on something else – the view, passersby, the faint rub of her sandal against her heel on her left foot, but this present reality was too compelling.
She tried not to dwell on it, tried to think of something else, but her mind would not obey her. She would not cry. By God she would not cry.

Please don’t let me cry.

He said a couple of things and she answered in monosyllables almost at random, walking faster until he was striding to keep up. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her when she stumbled and almost tripped, and kept it there in a gesture of support.

Round the headland they went, back to the crowds where
the jostling, churning press of people forced him to drop his arm. Instead he took her hand and went before her, forging a way through the milling festival attendees until they finally fought their way clear.

By the time they reached the car she was breathing heavily, almost choking under the crushing weight
of feeling bearing down on her. It felt like a panic attack; she couldn’t draw a full breath. It was choking her; the remorse and despair and the inability to change things or mend them, ever. He hustled her into the car, got into his side and turned on the engine and the air conditioning.

“Back to my place?”

“No, to my car. Thanks.”

“Kate, what is wrong? Was it something I said?”

“No, no. Well sort of. There’s . . . there’s a situation at work I’ve been . . . avoiding dealing with,” she said, intending to lie again but hearing something that was almost the truth fall out of her mouth. “And I guess I’ve been worrying about it more than I knew. And as you were talking I realized I have to make a very difficult decision and I’m just sick about it. I really am.”

“Can I do anything? You want to talk it through? I’ve had some experience with these things. I’m happy to help any way I can. I could even be with you as you face the person; if that helps.”

She kept her head down, avoiding his too-perceptive gaze.

“You’re very kind. I’m not going to impose, but thanks. Please can we just go?”

There was a long pause before he pulled away from the curb. She looked steadfastly out the window, seeing nothing. It didn’t take long to get back to where her car was parked, the silence deafening between them. She got out of the car with a: “Bye Mike,” and strode away without looking back.

“Hang on,” he called out, and she heard his car door slam as he got out, and the sound of his footsteps approaching. She stopped reluctantly then made a half turn towards him, hand raised to shield her eyes. Her reddened, teary eyes. He caught up to her and stood a little closer than polite acquaintances. “At least call me to let me know how it goes,” he said softly, a hand cupping each shoulder and rubbing gently up and down, his gaze concerned.

She
lips twisted in cynicism at that. As if he’d really care what a virtual stranger was going through. It was a nice thought but she didn’t believe it. “Sure,” she said and started to turn away again. His hands tightened on her shoulders, stopping her.

“You don’t have my number. I don’t have yours. How will you contact me?”

“Uh . . .”

“Do you have your phone?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me,” he said patiently.

She pulled herself together with a physical effort, forcing herself to breathe, to act normal; or closer to normal; less distracted and crazy. Don’t think about it. Just smile. Don’t think.

After a moment she said:
“If you have yours I’ll give you my number and you can just call mine. Then you’ll have my number and I’ll have yours.”

“I left mine at home while we were out together.”

“Oh. Did you?” She blinked, bemused. That was a totally foreign concept. No one cut themselves off like that, even for just a few hours on a Saturday morning; especially not important men like him.

He stood there, waiting, and eventually she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. It flashed and glittere
d brilliantly in the sunshine. “Very pretty,” he said, and she heard the suppressed humor in his voice.

“
My little sister,” she said in a monotone. “She did it for my birthday. Pinched my phone and bedazzled it. She thought I’d like it.” She tilted it back and forth so it reflected the light in bright rainbows in every direction. He pretended to stagger back, overcome and with his hands raised to shield him.

It was her turn to wait patiently until he’d stopped fooling and told her his number. Dutifully she entered it, and then the email address that followed.
When she was done she paused, awkward. She didn’t plan to be in touch as Kate. What was the point? The instant he found out the truth it was all over. She wasn’t such a masochist she was going to expose herself to that.

In fact she would probably not come into work again. So she’d never see him again unless they met sometime by chance. This was the last conversation they would have.

As that thought crossed her mind she caught a pained breath, then stepped forward and threw herself into his arms. He was surprised by her move but caught her around the waist nonetheless, lifting her up on her toes as he pulled her in closer. One of her arms looped around his neck, her other hand stroked down his jaw, remembering this moment, this face pressed into her palm. Then she kissed him with a desperate passion, packing everything she couldn’t tell him, everything she couldn’t say, everything she was turning away from into that single blinding kiss.

After a moment of st
illness he responded in kind, bending her back so she had to cling to him to keep her balance, his hands hot on her spine and the nape of her neck under her hair. The fire between them rose immediately to flash point, his erection rising to press hard against her stomach and her knees weakening in response. With all her being she longed to melt into it, into him, sink into the darkness of pleasure and never surface to reason.

When she dragged herself
back a few inches she could feel her nipples hardened, the urgency of her own arousal. It was anguish to pull away as her body longed forlornly for its mate.

“Come back with me,’ he growled. “I can make you feel good. Make you forget. You don’t have to deal with any of it right now. Come with me.” He
stepped in close again, reached down and cupped her intimately, taking her by surprise. She gasped as he rubbed her slowly through the thin cotton, lustful and ferociously intent. When he sucked on her lip she gasped and moaned, almost undone.

“Oh God, I wish I could,” she said, and her voice rang with sincerity. “But it’s the wrong choice and I just can’t.”

“Why not? There’s nothing wrong about this,” he murmured with faint incredulity, his other hand savoring the curve of her bottom while that slow, maddening grind continued. It was outrageous, here in broad daylight, standing making out on the pavement. She felt fevered and half-crazed with it, with this insane situation and the way his big hands commanded her response, his mouth dropping down to possess hers again.

If only she could go with it. Surrender to impulse and do what she felt like. It was how she lived her whole life. It
made no sense to change now . . .

But that was exactly it. Living reactively and by impulse had got her into this mess. She
had to find a way to be strong; to be different. Not to do the wrong thing yet again, another brick in the wall of this tragedy. She had to stick to her decision; or things were going to get much, much worse.

“Mike,” she murmured into his hungry mouth. “Mike,” a little stronger, “I have to stop. Please help me stop.”