The Accidental Mistress (10 page)

Lizzie looked up sharply at Shelley as they ate cereal in the kitchen. It was nearly time for both of them to go out. Shelley to her temp job; Lizzie to a full day at New Again, helping Marie to redo the window and freshen up the stock. Sometimes changing the displays, and bringing some different items out of the backroom, really perked things up. The premises were quite small, and it just wasn’t practical to have everything out at once.

‘I never said it was
naughty
Skyping, and no, I haven’t spoken to him in two days. He’s a very busy man and he’s there to do some high-powered business stuff. Making deals that’ll create jobs for people, not just another ton of money for himself. So I don’t expect him to spend all his time over there thinking about
me
.’

Part of her wanted him to, though, selfishly. Mainly because she’d been sure that the other night there’d been something else on his mind, something unpleasant. Something Lizzie sensed was nothing to do with purpose of his trip.

Something personal?

‘Your ears were bright pink when you told me he’d called.’ Shelley was the queen of knowing grins. ‘And that’s your “tell” for when nookie or something similar has occurred.’

‘Ah, well, they’re not pink now, are they?’ Actually Lizzie
could
feel them heating up a bit, thinking back to the nicer bits of that Skype exchange. But then again, if he’d been sitting here eating cereal with them now, he’d be a turn-on too. You could put John Smith in Shelley’s old dressing gown and bunny slippers and he’d still be a sex god.

He hadn’t been completely out of touch, though. There had been texts, and emails. Little thumbnail sketches of his day, and even some rather good photos, sent from his phone. As someone whose own camera-pics often amounted to a loose assembly of out-of-focus blobs, Lizzie was impressed. There was artistry in John’s simple shots of New York tourist attractions. Yellow cabs. Skyscrapers. Central Park, from a distance. Even a dazzling nightscape of the skyline.

But his timetable had remained vague. Chafing for more, Lizzie had reminded herself that at least he’d kept in touch, as he’d said he’d do. Boyfriends were always like that, and she supposed that was what he was.

‘So, when’s he coming back, this billionaire of yours? I still can’t get over the fact it could have been me who pulled him in the Lawns … Talk about dumb bad luck.’ Shelley’s grin belied her words, and swigging down her tea, she came over and gave Lizzie a hug. ‘I know you’re missing him.’

Yes, missing him now more than she’d even done during their month apart. John was addictive. The more you got of him, the more you wanted.

‘I don’t know … soon, I think … and I don’t think he’s actually a billionaire, you know. There are only actually a very, very few of them in the world. Magazines and books
always exaggerate.’ Somehow, she wanted to defend him. Rebut even the vaguest accusation that he might be a soulless plutocrat. ‘I think he’s got quite a lot of millions, but, well, he’s got responsibilities.’

Shelley looked curious, but Lizzie decided that was enough. The chance of anything she said to her friend getting back to the parties in question was remote in the extreme, but it
was
still supposed to be a secret that John was the person mainly supporting his high-maintenance ancestral home. Without the knowledge of the people actually living in it.

‘Look, shouldn’t we be getting a shift on here? I need to be in the shop for nine, and don’t most offices open around that time too?’

‘Oh hell! I’m going to be late!’ As was her wont, Shelley raced from the room, ready to get dressed in double-quick time.

But as she made her way to her own bedroom, Lizzie pondered her friend’s question.

When indeed was John coming back to England … and to her?

In the office-come-workroom at New Again, Lizzie slid the dress back on to the tailor’s form and surveyed it carefully, checking the way it hung now she’d completed the taking in. It would have been so much better if the customer had stayed, so they could double-check the fitting, but she’d dashed off in a hurry, a young woman with haunted eyes.

‘There’s still so much shopping and cooking to do. I don’t know how I’ll get it all finished for tonight. You’re an angel to help me choose a dress and to alter it at such short notice.’

A cocktail party, thrown to make nice with her husband’s
demanding boss; what a nightmare. The poor lass had looked terrified, and been almost in tears in the shop. Marie had been on the phone, delicately negotiating with someone who had a lot of choice items to sell, leaving Lizzie to keep an eye on things. She’d spotted the young wife sniffing into a hankie, eyes a bit red, and an expression of despair on her pale face.

‘He said I need to smarten myself up … get something new. He’s not usually like this. He’s a kind man … it’s just he’s under incredible pressure at work … there’s so much competition for promotion. It’s a nightmare.’

Lizzie had sympathised and, sizing the girl up, she’d pulled a few frocks from the rack that she thought would suit her. One was a real winner, and even the woebegone wife’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. But it was a bit loose – she said she’d lost weight lately, and no wonder – and when she’d wilted again, seeing it was too big for her, Lizzie had offered to alter it as a priority. Basically it was an act of sympathy, but who knew, if her husband got promoted, Mrs Cox might be back to New Again, for more occasion wear …

Still, though, Lizzie couldn’t bear to see the young woman’s unhappiness, and if the right dress could perk her up tonight, it was worth going the extra mile. Marie had agreed to let her get a taxi, when she’d finished, and take the dress round to the customer’s home in Kissley Magna.

Now for the hem. At least that was the simplest task. Lizzie decided to tack first; it wouldn’t take that much longer, and tacking always gave a better result.

You poor woman, is this what happens when you’re a corporate wife? I don’t think I could stick it.

Suddenly, as she sewed, a vision came into her mind. Herself, hostessing for John. Weighed down with the same
sort of responsibility as the woman who’d wear this dress, only times a hundred, because John
was
the boss, and his parties would be a hundred times more prestigious.

Don’t be daft. You don’t have that kind of relationship. How would he introduce you to exalted foreign business associates, and to high society? ‘Oh, this is Lizzie. She used to be my temporary sex friend, and now she’s accidentally become my mistress.’

Just about to slip the dress into the machine, and start hemming, she shuddered. The shop’s outside door had opened. Was it a cold draught? Probably not, it was a gorgeous sunny day. Someone had come in, but from her place at the worktable in the back room, she couldn’t see them. She could only hear a very firm and determined tread, approaching the counter, where a glass case held the most high-end accessories.

‘Hi! I’m looking for some clothes for my gorgeous girlfriend. I’m thinking of whisking her away to somewhere warm and luxurious sometime soon, so she’ll need beachwear, and evening wear … and lots of it.’

Thanking her lucky stars that she hadn’t already begun sewing, because she would’ve zigged-zagged the hem all over the place, Lizzie silently fought for control. The familiar voice, so deep and playful, had her shaking like a sapling in the wind. Draping the dress across the worktable, she drew in a long, deep breath, pausing for a few calming seconds instead of flying out into the shop like a maniac. Taking another breath, she stood up, smoothed down her skirt, and then patted ineffectually at her hair in the mirror, tweaking her fringe into place. She actually did look like a bit of a maniac, her eyes wild and brilliant, and her pale cheeks stained with a blush.

‘Ah … um … yes,’ she heard Marie say in a slightly breathy
voice. ‘I think Miss Aitchison might be the best person to help you.’

The next second, Lizzie’s employer shot into the workroom.

‘Lizzie, there’s this absolutely freaking amazing-looking man in the shop! I think it’s your bloke … your John. You’d better get out there.’

‘Right ho.’ It was all she could manage. Her heart was hammering. She felt faint, and it was ridiculous. He’d only been away a few days.

Drawing together her poise, Lizzie walked out.

It was
her
John, standing in New Again, beaming at the sight of her, dressed in one of his wonderful three-piece suits, and … and just
dazzling
her. He wore mid-grey today, with a snowy white business shirt, and no tie. His hair had that look as if he’d been running his fingers through it again. Was he feeling just as maniacal as she was?

All she knew was that he was heaven to her eyes; the warmth of his beautiful grin seemed to light the entire room, and besides Lizzie, it wasn’t only Marie who was gaping at him like an adoring worshipper. Two typical Kissley Magna matrons, who’d previously been proving picky customers, to say the least, now gazed at the newly arrived god like a pair of love-sick puppies.

‘Lizzie … you look wonderful.’ Ignoring the ‘customer/staff’ divide, John strode around behind the counter and reached for her hand, gripping it tightly as if he was afraid she might bolt. Before she could stop him, he leaned in and kissed her. Hard. On the lips.

Lizzie swayed. How could he affect her like this? Every time anew. Unable to help herself, she leaned in and slid her hand up on to his shoulder, holding him as tightly as he held
her. Parting her lips, she welcomed the touch of his tongue seeking hers.

‘Oh Lizzie,’ he gasped, breaking for a moment, then plunging into the kiss again, arms snaking around her and pulling her close.

She was back in paradise, back in the arms of her angel. A wicked, horny angel, who might well ravish her right here on the counter if she didn’t stop him, her boss and customers notwithstanding. In their zone of just the two of them, it didn’t seem to matter who was watching.

‘So, are you free, Miss Aitchison?’ He grinned at her as they broke apart, and drew the backs of his fingertips down the side of her face, the touch feather-light.

Free? In what sense? She was no longer masquerading as a call girl but he was still lavishing his wealth on her, and some might call that ‘buying’ …

‘Well … as a matter of fact, I’ve got some urgent work to do. I didn’t realise you were even on your way home, never mind back here already.’

‘You’re a very industrious and responsible young woman, Lizzie, and I admire that. Even if I do just want to throw you over my shoulder, and carry you away so I can ravish you.’ He spoke very softly, for her ears only, but somehow New Again seemed to have acquired an entirely new acoustic profile. His protestation seemed to bounce off all the four walls of the little shop and reverberate as if he’d roared it like a lion.

Her glance skittered to their companions. Marie was grinning like an idiot, still clearly sideswiped by the John Smith tsunami of masculine glamour, and even the two customers were smiling. Maybe they’d both had a ‘John’ in their younger days, and could still remember being swept away as well.

‘Take the afternoon off, Lizzie. I can easily manage … You go and … um … be with your friend.’

John blinked, as if he’d suddenly noticed other people around them. Giving Lizzie’s shoulder a quick squeeze, he stepped forward and offered his hand to Marie. ‘Pardon my atrocious manners, but I’ve missed Lizzie terribly while I’ve been away. I’m John Smith. How do you do?’

‘Marie Lanscombe …’ Marie looked as if she was about to expire when John shook her hand. ‘And don’t worry. I really can spare Lizzie for the afternoon.’

The temptation to just let herself be swept away was almost irresistible, but Lizzie stood firm. ‘I have to finish Mrs Cox’s dress first. She needs it tonight. It’s important. We said we’d deliver it, and I’ve still to finish the hem.’

The look in John’s eyes was amazing. Sexy, but with a different glow. She’d impressed him. The look she saw was pride. Pride in her …

‘How about you finish the sewing, then you and I deliver the dress together? There’s something I want to show you this afternoon, but we can easily make a detour first.’

Show me what?

John’s tricky, gleaming smile hinted at something unexpected … but for all she knew he might simply mean the ceiling of his room at the Waverley.

‘Cool … Is that OK?’ She turned to Marie, who was already nodding. ‘Er … it won’t take too long. Do you want to wait here, or is your car outside?’ she asked John.

‘I’ll wait here. After the time I had in New York, I don’t want to let you out of my sight more than I have to. And I’d like to watch you sew. I’d like to see you work … that is, see your
real
work.’ His voice dropped again and he winked outrageously, reminding her of Bettie, the accidental call girl.

Pink in the face again, Lizzie grabbed his hand and hauled him towards the workroom. ‘Come into the back. But you’ve got to promise to behave yourself, and not distract me. This is important stuff. Probably not by your standards, but it matters to me, and to other people too.’

‘I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,’ he said softly.

Lizzie could almost feel the weight of speculation wash over her as they disappeared into the back together. Marie, the ladies, they must be imagining all sorts. She was imagining it herself, hungry for another of those devastating kisses, even if there wasn’t the time or opportunity for anything more elaborate.

The workroom wasn’t big, but with John in it, it seemed tiny, like being in a pressure cooker. His presence filled the space, and his golden, knowing smile lit it up. Before she could sit down, he had her in his arms.

‘One more kiss before you sew. Just one … I’ll die without it.’

‘What are you like!’

He laughed, but very quietly, barely a breath against her lips. ‘Sometimes I’m not so sure … Around you I seem to have more randy uncontrollable hormones than I’ve ever had in my life.’ His lips brushed hers, almost floating. ‘God, I’ve missed you so much.’

And I you
, she wanted to say, but he was already kissing her. Harder than when they’d been out in the shop, voracious this time, his tongue darting into her mouth, exploring and owning her.