The Mistress's Secret

Chapter One

Alanna Richards leafed idly along the racks of cocktail dresses. Each carried a top designer label and was swathed in protective plastic. A wry, almost self-mocking smile hovered around her mouth. Once she had a wardrobe of such dresses. Each more beautiful than the last. Her smile took on a touch of strain. But then, it had been essential that she look as good as she possibly could. Every day.

Every night.

Her smile stilled. Memories, long banished, suddenly haunted her. A face — dark-eyed, desiring.

Abruptly she dropped her hand and started to walk forward again across soft deep carpet. It was time to find Maggie and the boys. It had been stupid of her to indulge in such weakness, however brief. Her memories were locked tightly away. Maybe, one day, when she was an old woman, she would take them out. But until that time, so far ahead of her, it was not safe. Not safe at all.

Eyes straight ahead, she started for the archway that led through to the escalator lobby of the huge, world famous London department store. It catered to the rich — the very rich — and once Alanna had been a regular customer.

Now it was as much as she could bear to enter its portals again. Not that it had been her idea. Maggie had enthused over the idea of making a special visit up to town with the boys to see the store's magically decorated Christmas toy department — "Not to buy, of course," Alanna's friend and fellow single mother had laughed. "Just to look. Ben and Nicky would adore it!"

They had, too — delighting in the lavish display of toys and the wonderful Christmas decorations, and content merely to look. Both children were used to "only looking" when it came to toys. Neither Alanna nor Maggie had money to spare for expensive playthings.

For a moment regret hovered in her mind. Had she been rash to give away Nikos's money as she had?

No — she lifted her chin resolutely — it had been the right thing to do. The only thing! It had been money she'd had no right to — none at all. The little she had kept had been enough to keep her and Nicky out of state support. Next year, when Nicky started school, she would be able to work during the school day, and then her finances would ease a little.

But never again — her eyes wandered sideways one last time to a mannequin wearing a glittering evening dress that didn't even have a price displayed — would she ever wear anything like that….

Not like that female there, she thought, her gaze lighting on a chicly clad blonde wearing what was obviously a designer suit, pursing her lips thoughtfully over the evening dress. The woman was about her age, she thought, a few years under thirty, and she had that polished perfection about her that told Alanna immediately that she spent her days doing nothing but having her hair and nails done and making herself look fabulous.

The way I used to spend my days….

She paused momentarily to study the woman. Yes, she thought, her lips tightening, I used to be just like that. Checking out the very best in clothes. So that I could look my very best.

For Leon.

Memory leaped back, seizing her throat, making her breath catch chokingly. It was this place that had done it, reminded her of that beautiful, expensive world she'd once, so briefly, inhabited. The sight of these glamorous, expensive clothes had ripped away that fragile — terrifyingly fragile — barrier that she had erected day by day…year-by-year…against a single man, a single name.

Leon Andreakos.

Greek.

Rich.

Gorgeous.

Fantastically, wonderfully, irresistibly gorgeous. All six foot two of him. From the top of his silky, sable hair to his long, lithe legs. And everything in between. The most fantastic male she'd ever set eyes on. Ever would set eyes on. Ever could set eyes on.

Whom she would never see again.

His face was in front of her again, tormenting her memory — that arrogant tilt of the head; the high, sculpted cheekbones; and those eyes, so dark, swept by eyelashes so thick and long that they were wasted on a man. But nothing, nothing at all, was wasted on Leon Andreakos. Not an inch of that toned, muscled flesh that she had once known so intimately…

Her mouth twisted.

No, she had never known Leon Andreakos. She had known his body — and he had known hers…oh, how he had known hers! — but she had never known the man. He had never permitted that. Always, always, even in the tempest of their physical union, even at the more intense moments of their shared sensuality, he had kept that distance between them, never letting her close that gap, always, always holding her just far enough away.

There was a hardness now in her eyes, and behind the hardness, a pain that would never leave her. After all, what man like Leon Andreakos would ever let his mistress become emotionally close to him?

Let alone fall in love with him.

She shut her eyes, feeling the pain sweep over her. Pain she had pushed aside nearly five long bitter years ago because what was the use of feeling it? She could weep and agonize over loving Leon Andreakos all she liked, but he would never love her, and so what was the point of all her pain, all her wasted love?

And it wasn't just that Leon Andreakos didn't love her.