Mistress by Agreement

There were minuscule particles of dust dancing in a patch of bright sunlight just above his head, and Rosalie’s eyes were drawn to them as she rose to her feet. She stood uncertainly, an ache in her throat and a churning in her stomach, and found she didn’t know what to say. She’d learnt enough about him over the past months, both from her own observations and from business colleagues—who talked avidly of his ruthless reputation—to know Kingsley was not renowned for an excess of patience. This wasn’t like him. At least not as far as she knew. Which b

rought her right back to the point in question—how sure could she be about anything to do with him?

‘Did someone mention coffee and brunch?’ His tone was deep, the laconic request bringing her back to herself and she turned, walking into the kitchen on shaky legs.

She couldn’t believe she had just told Kingsley, Kingsley of all people, about Miles and her marriage. What was he thinking? She stood at the kitchen sink, gripping the porcelain so hard her knuckles shone white through her skin. Did he think she was pathetic and stupid? Was he disgusted, with her as well as Miles? Why, oh, why had she told him? She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to stop the hot tears from falling.

‘It’s all right.’ She hadn’t been aware of him following her, but now he enfolded her into his arms and she had no more strength left to resist. ‘I know it took a lot of courage to tell me about him, but he’s gone, Rosie,’ he said over her head as he held her against the solid wall of his chest. ‘You get men like him in every generation, emotional cripples who prey on the gentle and the good. They’re inadequate and deep down they recognise it so they compensate with cruelness. I’m glad he’s dead because it saves me hunting him out and dealing with him as he deserves. Telling me has brought it all back right now and exposed the wound, but wounds can heal, believe me, and it’s better when they’re cleaned out, however painful.’

It wasn’t as simple as that. There was so much more to this than just her marriage, but she hadn’t fully realised it till now. The violent death of her mother, her father’s suicide, the years of wondering if she had contributed to her mother’s death simply by being born, and then—when she’d thought Miles was the answer to all her hopes and dreams, when she’d found someone who would love her, really love her—the nightmare of her marriage and its cataclysmic end.

She was a mess. This wasn’t about Kingsley, it was about her. She drew away, pushing back her hair from her face as she said quietly, ‘I’ll see to the food and I’ll bring your coffee through when it’s ready.’

He made no move to hold onto her and he didn’t say a word before he turned and left the kitchen, his eyes just raking her white face for a moment.

They ate at the little pine table in a corner of her sitting room and it brought back memories of the first time he had been to the house, the evening he had brought her home from the hospital. She should have made sure any relationship between them had ended then. The thought caused her throat to close up and she had to force herself to eat, each mouthful threatening to choke her.

He glanced at his watch as they finished, his voice expressionless as he said, ‘Are you coming to the airport with me?’

She stared at him. ‘Do you want me to?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘After all that’s been said?’

His voice held a touch of irritation as he said, ‘Of course I want you to. What sort of damn fool question is that?’

She would have smiled if she had been able. His reply was so very much Kingsley, and another strand of the tensile net he’d thrown round her heart. A net she had to break. She couldn’t let herself love him or anyone else, not again. She needed to be in control in every area of her life and love took that away, giving a terrible power to someone else.

She would go to the airport with him and she wouldn’t say anything more to rock the boat before he left, not in view of the situation he had to deal with in Jamaica with his friend. But this was the finish. It had to be. He just didn’t know it yet.

CHAPTER NINE

KINGSLEY took her hand in the taxi on the way to the airport and she let it lie there. They didn’t talk but there was so much unsaid hanging between them that Rosalie felt the air were crackling. She was vitally aware of him at her side, his hard thigh touching hers and his big body seemingly relaxed. But he wasn’t. She knew him well enough by now to know that he was playing a part, just as she was.

The airport was seething with people, and after Kingsley had checked in his luggage he took her arm and they made their way to one of the fast-food places. He ordered two coffees, which neither of them wanted, and once they were sitting on uncomfortable chairs at a table for two he took her hands in his. ‘You’re cold.’ It was said with surprise.

She shrugged. She’d been chilled from the inside out since she’d decided what she had to do. ‘My self air-conditioning has never been too good,’ she said lightly.

Kingsley’s eyes narrowed and he gave her a long look. ‘I’m planning to come back at the end of the week,’ he said quietly. ‘Dinner on Friday night?’

‘You might not be back,’ she hedged quickly. ‘Let’s decide later.’

‘No, let’s decide now.’

Suddenly she felt they were discussing more than the dinner. She stared at him. He looked tough and strong, a man who would deal with any problem life presented and sort it out on his own terms. A man who wouldn’t compromise, who would always want his own way because he would feel it was the best way. And yet he had been gentle and understanding with her, she had to admit that. And again this all came back to it being her who was the mixed-up kid, but she was a woman on her own—she had been for ten years—and she had managed just fine, hadn’t she? She’d accepted she had to fight her own battles and stand on her own two feet and she had done it. Her life and what she did with it was down to her, and no one could rob her of that unless she gave over her independence, her self-respect, her autonomy.

True, the feelings of inadequacy that plagued her in the dark of the night were hard to deal with at times, especially since she had got to know Kingsley. She’d resolutely held back from giving way to the desire of imagining what it would be like to be in his arms, to have him holding her, loving her, banishing the demons with the strength of his presence. Dreams of that sort were all very well, but if they turned into nightmares…

‘I wouldn’t let you down, Rosie.’ It was as though he had read her mind and she blinked at him. ‘If I say Friday, I’ll be here on Friday.’ Again they both knew there was more to the conversation than the surface indicated. ‘You are going to have to trust me sooner or later because I’m not going to go anywhere.’

‘You’re going to Jamaica,’ she said, thinking, What a stupid thing to say at such a time.

‘If you asked me to stay I would,’ he said simply.

‘What about your friend?’

‘You come first.’

Her heart began to beat erratically. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to stay. You must go and see him; he needs you.’

‘And you don’t?’