The Mistress Contract, page 13
‘I’ve never been called Maisie before—’ the darkly amused voice was deep and husky and made her heart jump into her mouth ‘—and I’m right out of croissants.’
‘Conrad?’ He was here, now, and she must look such a mess.
‘Sorry to disappoint you if you’re hungry,’ he said drily.
He was here, right now! She glanced in the hall mirror and inwardly groaned. Her face was shiny, her eyes still carried the penalty of the good cry and she was only clothed in her nightie beneath the robe. Don’t panic, Sephy, she told herself desperately.
‘What…what do you want?’ she stammered at last, somewhat ungraciously, before adding, ‘Thank you for the flowers.’
‘My pleasure.’ There was something so sexy about his husky voice it made her toes curl, which, no doubt, was exactly what he intended, she told herself caustically. Tried and tested formula.
She took a deep breath but her voice still carried a faint tremor as she repeated, ‘What do you want, Conrad?’
‘You.’
She swallowed hard. Okay, she should have expected that.
‘But then you know that,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I’m…I’m not dressed yet,’ she said, before she considered her words.
‘And they say there isn’t a Santa Claus.’
‘Conrad, please.’ She glanced again in the mirror and groaned.
‘I want to take you out to lunch, Sephy, or is that a terrible crime?’ he asked softly, but this time there was a thread of naked steel running through the words that she recognised from her time as his secretary. It told her he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
‘I might have other plans,’ she managed after a few frantic moments. But she was only prolonging the inevitable.
‘Have you?’ He clearly wasn’t buying that one.
Some deep feminine instinct for self-preservation urged her to say yes, but the thought of a few hours with him was too tempting. Lunch was safe, nothing could happen during lunch, and she had already made the decision to leave Quentin Dynamics at the earliest opportunity. She deserved this day. She did. It was all she was likely to ever have.
She had hesitated too long, and now his voice was very dry when he said, ‘Get dressed, Sephy, and be downstairs in ten minutes or I’ll upset your friend—Jerry, isn’t it?—by breaking this door down.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said indignantly. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘I’m never ridiculous, and just try me.’
It was arrogant and cold and so very Conrad that it made her smile in spite of the circumstances, but she managed to keep all trace of amusement out of her voice as she said tersely, ‘Fifteen minutes, and don’t you dare so much as touch that door.’
She put the phone down on his warm throaty chuckle, but the ache of longing it caused was harder to control.
They lunched at a small old-fashioned inn in Stratford-upon-Avon, where the steak pie cooked in Guinness was wonderful and the raspberry pavlova was homemade and melted in the mouth.
The drive out had been leisurely, and Conrad appeared perfectly relaxed, but from the moment she had caught sight of him as she had stepped on to the pavement Sephy had felt her nerves pull as tight as piano wire.
She had never seen him dressed casually before, he had always worn any one of a number of beautifully cut designer suits for the office, but today his black denim jeans and waist-length bulky charcoal-grey leather jacket emphasised his dark, virile masculinity a hundredfold and it made her—quite literally—weak at the knees. He was intimidatingly sexy and flagrantly male from the top of his ebony head to the soles of his shoes, and she felt she had caught a tiger by the tail. Although she hadn’t caught him, she reminded herself silently, she hadn’t remotely caught him, and therein lay the root of all her problems. He was a law unto himself and answerable to no one.
‘What would you like to do for the rest of the day?’ he asked lazily as they finished their coffee, his vivid blue eyes moving over her silky dark hair which she had left loose to fall in soft waves about her shoulders. ‘We don’t need to be back in London until sevenish, but I’ve booked a table at the Calypso Club for eight-thirty and no doubt you’ll want time to put on your glad rags.’
She stared at him uncertainly. Rarely a week or two went by when some glossy magazine or other didn’t have pictures of a host of celebrities enjoying themselves at the Calypso. It was the place to be seen, the haunt of the jet-set and the beautiful people, and you had to be worth a mint just to step inside its exclusive doors. This was so far outside her league as to be laughable. She had to make him understand.
‘Conrad, this isn’t going to work,’ she said as firmly as she could. ‘You do see that, don’t you? All I said…I still mean it.’
‘You mean about prostituting yourself or my seeing you just as a challenge?’ he queried with shocking impassivity. ‘Or perhaps you’re referring to your accusation that I don’t care about you as a person?’ he added, his eyes watching her closely.
Oh, hell! She suddenly realised her words had cut deep. ‘I…I shouldn’t have said some of that,’ she admitted awkwardly.
‘No, you’re right, you shouldn’t,’ he said calmly.
‘But some of it was true,’ she declared tersely. ‘Your view on life is so different to mine that we’re poles apart—’
‘Cut the baloney, Sephy. At least say it as it is.’
Her breath caught painfully in her throat. Beneath the smooth, amusing, controlled exterior this was one angry man.
‘You don’t trust me; that’s it in a nutshell,’ he said coolly. ‘You’ve listened to rumour and innuendo.’
‘No, that is not it,’ she shot back quickly, a welcome flood of anger dispelling the momentary guilt and confusion. ‘You told me what to expect if I got involved with you and I don’t like it, okay? Not every woman wants a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of love affair, Conrad.’
‘A what?’ Dark colour flared across hard cheekbones and the sparks in his blue eyes warned her it wouldn’t take much for the smouldering rage to flare into a blazing fire.
‘I’m not capable of going into a relationship knowing it is destined to fail,’ Sephy said wretchedly. ‘That’s what I mean.’
‘Who’s talking about failure?’ he ground out. ‘Just because a couple move on to other partners it doesn’t mean they have to part acrimoniously or that what they shared is spoilt. My exes have always been quite happy and reasonable when the time has come for us to go our separate ways.’
‘How would you know that?’ she dared to challenge. ‘How would you know? You lay down the ground rules; you control the whole thing from beginning to end; you never let anyone get close to you! How would you really know what the other person is feeling? You fool yourself, Conrad. All the time,’ she said wretchedly.
‘I don’t believe this.’ If the whole thing hadn’t been so devastatingly horrible she might have found a glimmer of amusement in the astounded affront and scandalised resentment he was showing. ‘I really don’t believe what I’m hearing.’
‘You told me you weren’t capable of being close to anyone,’ she continued softly, knowing she had to say it all. ‘That love is a myth. That’s what you said, Conrad. Well, I can’t think like that. I could never give my body lightly. It would have to be a full commitment and I’d want the same promise of commitment back from the man I loved. It’s the way I’m made.’
‘And this man who let you down? Did he promise you full commitment and eternal devotion?’ he challenged grimly.
Oh, he was good. He was; she had to give him that. She had noticed the raised eyebrow so she should have known something deadly was coming.
‘No, he didn’t,’ she said bravely, her chin lifting proudly.
‘And yet you still loved him.’
‘It wasn’t like that, not like you’re assuming,’ she said tightly, praying for courage. ‘I never slept with David.’
‘You didn’t?’ His eyes narrowed and she could almost see that razor-sharp mind whirring and collating all the facts so far. ‘But since him you said—’
‘That I’ve only dated occasionally, yes.’ Perhaps it had to be this way for this ridiculous affair that wasn’t an affair to finish, she thought painfully as humiliation turned her cheeks vivid scarlet. Conrad Quentin liked his women experienced and well-versed in the art of love, and although he had known she wasn’t exactly a Mata Hari type he had thought—at twenty-six years of age—she had had some sexual experience.
The silence stretched and lengthened, but she was determined she wasn’t going to break it, although the hand that reached out for her coffee cup was shaking. She had drained the last of the coffee before Conrad said, his voice expressionless, ‘You should have told me, Sephy.’
‘That I’m a virgin?’ she stated baldly. The time for delicacy was over. ‘Why? It’s nothing to do with anyone else.’
‘I’m not anyone,’ he said sharply, before moderating his tone as he added, ‘Hell, don’t look like that.’
She couldn’t help how she looked; he ought to be glad she hadn’t dissolved into hysterical weeping the way she was feeling. Nevertheless, her chin went up a notch or two and she gripped her hands very tightly together under cover of the small pub table.
It had taken every drop of courage she possessed when she’d made the decision to leave her home town and move to London. The incident with David Bainbridge had shattered her self-confidence—which had always been pretty fragile anyway—and caused her to go into herself, but at the age of twenty she had known she had to climb out of the rut she’d made for herself and spread her wings.
The bedsit—which had been all she could afford—had been grotty to say the least, but she had persevered and worked hard and forced herself to go out on the occasional date so she didn’t fall into the trap of becoming a recluse.
Her salary had risen nicely, she had found the flat of her dreams and a whole bunch of new friends, and then had come the chance of bolstering her career by standing in for Madge for a few weeks or—as it had turned out—months.
Every step along the way she had had to make herself reach out and be resolute in her determination that the episode with David would not spoil her life. From the start she had ignored the whispering and the nudges and sly looks as word had got about, and even though it had nearly killed her she had held her head high and refused to hide away, licking her wounds in private.
All that couldn’t be for nothing, she told herself now. It was ironic that after all the years of keeping her feelings for the opposite sex in cold storage they had melted only for her to fall for the wrong man, but she would rise above this as she had risen above everything else. She loved him, she would always love him, but that was her problem, not his.
‘So.’ His eyes were still narrowed on her pale face. ‘Where do we go from here?’
She took a deep breath, calling on the fortitude the silent pep-talk had given her, and said lightly, ‘Back to London?’
‘Don’t be facetious, Sephy, it doesn’t suit you,’ he growled quietly.
‘What do you expect me to do?’ she snapped back swiftly, stung beyond measure. ‘Dissolve into tears? String you along, knowing all the time it could never work? Pretend? Coo and simper like your other women? That’s not my style, Conrad.’
Her words fell into a taut silence, and then he completely took the wind out of her sails—and nearly sank her boat in the process—when he reached out and stroked his hand down the silky smooth skin of her cheek. ‘You think I don’t know that?’ His voice was husky and smoky-soft. ‘One thing I’ve come to know is that I always get the truth from you, even if it’s like a punch in the stomach at times. And honesty deserves honesty. I can’t give you what you deserve, Sephy, but I can’t let go of you either. I won’t let go of you.’
‘That’s so unfair,’ she whispered weakly.
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed quietly. ‘So…how about if we get to know each other a while, without sex?’
‘What?’ The baldness of the last words had left her gasping.
‘I respect you, Sephy, and I enjoy your company,’ he said evenly, ‘and I haven’t said that to many women. But…I can’t change the way I am. I don’t believe in love and marriage and happy families and I won’t insult you by saying there’s a chance I might change. You say you couldn’t accept anything less in a sexual relationship, so we cut the sex part.’
‘But… I don’t—’ She was floundering; she had to pull herself together. ‘Why?’ she asked shakily. ‘Why would you do that?’ Knowing Conrad, there was a well-thought-out motive behind this.
‘The only way I would want you in my bed is because you want to be there,’ he said coolly. ‘Regardless of what you think, I’m actually not an advocate of casual sex, neither have I ever enticed a woman with lies or my wealth or even the emotion of the moment. When eventually you come to me it will be knowing exactly what you are doing and because you have decided it is what you want too. And I can promise you that as long as we are together I will be faithful. That’s a darn sight more than most men commit to even when they are saying their marriage vows.’ One dark raised eyebrow dared her to disagree.
‘This…this is crazy.’ And dangerous and scary and against every sensible and logical conclusion she had come to regarding Conrad Quentin. ‘What if I say no?’ she asked shakily.
‘Then I’ll make you change your mind,’ he said softly, but with such cold purpose that her eyes opened wide.
‘It will be for nothing; you say you can’t change and neither can I,’ she warned faintly. ‘Not ever.’
‘We’ll see.’ He smiled slowly and she felt her heart pound as the sky-blue eyes crinkled sexily. ‘Not ever is a long, long time, and in the meantime we’ll be having fun. There’s nothing too terrible about that, is there?’
Sephy didn’t know how to answer. She was aware, knowing Conrad as she now did, that he wasn’t joking when he said he would determine to make her change her mind if she said no to this crazy scheme. It would make her a double challenge in his eyes, if nothing else.
And if she said yes? Her heart changed its rhythm into a mad gallop. It would mean a few weeks, maybe months, in his company with no strings attached. Memories. Memories that would have to last her a lifetime. And then when he at last accepted she wasn’t going to sleep with him and they parted, he would at least remember her a little differently from all the rest. The one that got away? She bit on the soft underside of her bottom lip. And she would have to make sure she did get away.
But it was dangerous, too, too dangerous, loving him as she did. And she was the antithesis of his normal choice of female consort. How would she cope with his expectations of sparkling companionship? But then, she didn’t have to.
She stared into the dark lean face wordlessly. The only way he would leave her alone would be when he lost interest. She didn’t have to glitter and shine like all the society beauties he had been used to; she didn’t have to worry that she didn’t have an Armani or a Dior to her name and that she didn’t know all the right people; she didn’t have to try to be anything but herself. Sephy Vincent, with her old-fashioned views about love and marriage, her inexperience, her off-the-peg clothes and average good-looks.
The conclusion of this unlikely affair could only come one way; Conrad’s tenacious, inflexible nature made it so. He had to end it because he didn’t want her any more; she saw it clearly now. She just hoped she had the strength to endure it without giving him her body as well as her heart in the meantime.
‘So, friends, then?’ The smile she gave as she held out her hand was worthy of an Oscar if he did but know it.
‘Not quite friends, Sephy, if you want that total honesty,’ he said drily, his eyes hot as they roamed over her possessively. ‘But I’ll behave…for the time being. How about that?’
It was the best she was going to get, and far more than she could have hoped for that morning when the roses had arrived.
‘It’s a deal.’
And then, as he took her proffered hand and, instead of shaking it as she had expected, to seal the pact, raised it to his warm firm lips, the thought came that she had possibly just made the worst mistake of her life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE next few months were bittersweet. Sephy alternated between ecstasy and deep despair at regular intervals, sometimes on the same day, but in it all she sensed she was growing up fast and had left something of the old Sephy behind for ever. And that wasn’t all bad.
It was impossible, as Conrad’s ‘companion’, to avoid the glittering galas and functions his wealth and influence demanded he be at, and the first few times she accompanied him to a première or sat next to a famous personage at some dinner or other she felt totally out of her depth.
But then she discovered that even the most wealthy and well-known people were quite ordinary under their Guccis and sparkling diamonds, and that a ten-thousand-pound frock and jewellery from Cartier didn’t necessarily make a lady.
At first Conrad tried to insist that she take a dress allowance from him for such occasions, but she objected so vehemently he had the good sense to desist. However, Sephy was aware that a man in his position couldn’t have someone at his side who looked badly dressed, and here Maisie turned up trumps.
Under Maisie’s rainbow-coloured hair was a brilliant clothes designer as well as an astute businesswoman, and when Sephy confided her predicament Maisie and her assistant got to work with their patterns and sewing machines.
The first dress, made just a week after she and Conrad had come to their arrangement, made Sephy’s mouth fall open in sheer delight. ‘Maisie, it’s gorgeous,’ she said as she tried on the sky-blue silk evening dress and watched what it did to her creamy skin and hair in Maisie’s mirror. ‘But how much do I owe you?’
