The Mistress: The Mistress\Wanted: Mistress and Mother (17 page)
Read The Mistress: The Mistress\Wanted: Mistress and Mother Online
Authors: Maya Banks,Carol Marinelli
“I don’t want to stay here,” she said quietly. “I’d like to go
back to the island.” She gripped her fingers together until the tips shone
white.
His expression softened, and he dropped his hands to hers and
gently uncurled her fingers until they were twined with his.
“We’ll fly there as soon as we’re married.”
Relief surged through her veins. “You mean it? You don’t
mind?”
“Your happiness is everything to me. You ask such a small
thing. How could I not grant it? We’ll make the island our home if that is your
wish.”
She nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Then I’ll make the arrangements at once.”
* * *
Chrysander wasted no time in finalizing plans for their
wedding and preparing for them to travel to the island. He single-handedly
rearranged his business schedule, made sure everything Marley could possibly
need was purchased, though they’d already shopped for her wedding gown. She
stood in awe of all he could accomplish in such a short time.
The authorities questioned her now that she’d regained her
memory, and she spent several exhausting hours providing them with the few
details she could remember. The kidnappers hadn’t harmed her and had actually
shown her consideration when her pregnancy became obvious. They had watched her,
knowing she was close to Chrysander, and had struck when the opportunity arose.
They’d asked for a small ransom, certain they would get it with no fuss. When no
ransom had been forthcoming, they abandoned the kidnapping and arranged for
Marley to be found.
It was the realization that Chrysander had ignored the ransom
that had pushed Marley beyond her limits. It was that moment in the kidnapping
that she blocked out her past, so devastated was she over his betrayal.
Overwhelming emotion had crippled her—fear of being abandoned by the kidnappers,
the terror of being left alone and having nowhere to go, no one to turn to.
Marley became distraught during the retelling, and Chrysander
suffered the agony of being confronted by all she’d gone through. Because of
him. He hovered protectively throughout, and finally called a halt when it was
clear she was past all endurance.
The police were given their contact information so that Marley
could be reached if arrests were made or there was a need for her to
testify.
Two days later, they were married. Theron and Piers both
attended, and Patrice was the only other witness to the ceremony. Afterward,
Piers gave her a somewhat reserved welcome to the family while Theron’s was more
warm and enthusiastic.
“You’ve made him very happy, little sister,” Theron murmured as
he gathered her in his arms for a hug.
She offered a small smile, but she knew Theron wasn’t fooled by
it.
Soon after, Piers and Theron left, Theron to return to London
and Piers to fly to Rio de Janeiro to oversee plans for the new hotel. Patrice
returned to Athens, where she’d be met by Dr. Karounis. While Chrysander wanted
to wait a day for their own departure, Marley was adamant that they leave as
soon as the ceremony was done. She wanted to return to the island, a place she’d
been happy even if only for a short time. New York held too many unhappy
memories, and she just wanted to be away.
Chrysander bundled her on the plane and insisted she sleep for
the duration of the flight. It was late when they landed and later still by the
time the helicopter touched down on the island. But Marley felt relieved that
she was home.
Chrysander carried her into the house and didn’t relinquish her
until they were upstairs in the bedroom. He set her down on the bed and then
busied himself undressing her and tucking her underneath the covers.
When he crawled in beside her and merely held her lightly
against him, as though he was afraid of touching her, she frowned in the
darkness. She rose up and reached across him to turn on the light he’d
extinguished a moment earlier.
“Marley, what is wrong?” he asked as she stared down at
him.
She studied him, the lines around his mouth, the worry in his
eyes. In that moment, she understood. He was afraid.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened and turned to liquid. A ragged breath tore
from his mouth.
“I need you to make love to me.”
“You have to be sure about this,
agape
mou.
I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you aren’t
ready for.”
“I’m sure.”
With a tortured groan, he rolled her beneath him. Every kiss,
every touch was so exquisitely tender. He touched and stroked her with infinite
care.
Her gown was removed, and he slid out of his boxers. His body,
hot and straining, covered hers. Pleasure streaked through her body in waves
when he closed his mouth over her nipple. He sucked lightly, tonguing the small
bud, then he turned his attention to her other breast.
His hand cupped her belly protectively, cradling her against
him as he kissed his way up her neck and finally to her lips.
“
S’agapo, pedhaki mou. S’agapo,”
he
murmured in a voice so husky, so emotional, that it brought tears to her
eyes.
She cried out as he moved over her. “Please,” she begged. “I
need you.”
He entered her slowly, his movements careful and measured. But
she didn’t want him to treat her so carefully. She wanted all of him. She arched
into him and wrapped her legs around his hips.
Sobs of need, of pleasure, ripped from her throat, and for
once, pain had diminished to a distant memory. There was only here and now and
the man who loved her.
She raced up a mountain slope and hurtled into a free fall of
ecstasy. Chrysander was there to catch her, gathering her close against him as
he murmured words of love against her lips.
She snuggled into his embrace, melding herself as close to him
as she could. She needed this. Needed him.
“Don’t let me go,” she whispered.
“Never,
agape mou,
” he vowed. He
stroked her hair, her back, the swollen mound of her belly as she drifted off to
sleep. The last thing she was aware of was him telling her he loved her.
* * *
Marley slipped out of bed and pulled on her robe to
cover her nakedness. Chrysander was still firmly asleep, his arm stretched out
as though reaching for her.
He’d made love to her throughout the night, the two of them
falling into an exhausted sleep just before dawn. Her body still tingled from
his touch, his lips, his gentle caresses. As she stared at him, she knew that
she couldn’t hold off any longer. She couldn’t torture them both. Her
uncertainty was gone. Her fears would follow in time.
She padded down the stairs, smiling ruefully at the thought of
how Chrysander would fuss that she hadn’t waited for him. After a stop in the
kitchen, where she nibbled at a bagel and drank a glass of juice, she ventured
into the living room to enjoy the view of the ocean.
It was there that Chrysander found her. He slid his arms around
her, cupping her belly with his hands as he kissed the curve of her neck.
“You’re up early,
agape mou.
”
“I was thinking,” she murmured. She swiveled in his arms and
met his worried gaze.
They both stared for a long moment, and then finally Chrysander
said in a hoarse voice, “Do I ever have a chance of you loving me, Marley? Have
I ruined that chance forever?”
Her gaze softened, and her heart turned over again with the
love that swelled within her. Love and forgiveness.
“I already do,” she said softly.
Surprise flickered across his face, and then doubt crept
in.
“I’ve always loved you, Chrysander. From the moment I met you
there has never been another man for me. There never will be.”
“You love me?” he said in wonder, hope flaring in his eyes.
“I couldn’t tell you before,” she explained. “Not in New York
when things were so messed up. You wouldn’t have believed it if I had said it on
the heels of your declaration. I wanted to return here, where we were happy. I
wanted our life to begin here.”
He gathered her in his arms and held her against his trembling
body. His voice shook with emotion as he murmured to her in Greek. He switched
back and forth between Greek and English as he told her how much he loved her
and how sorry he was for the pain he’d caused her.
Then he swept her in his arms and carried her up the stairs and
back to their bed, where he made sweet, passionate love to her again. Later he
tucked her against his body and stroked a hand through her hair.
“I love you so much,
yineka mou.
I
don’t deserve your love, but I am so very grateful for it. I’ll spend the rest
of my life cherishing it, I swear.”
She hugged him to her. “I love you, too, Chrysander. So much.
We’ll be so happy together. I’ll make you happy.”
And she did.
Chapter 17
I
ronically enough, Marley discovered she
was in labor halfway down the stairs. Alone. She gripped the banister and
doubled over as a contraction rippled across her abdomen. Wasn’t labor supposed
to start out slow?
She wanted to laugh at the fact that fate was obviously cursing
her for trying to sneak down the stairs without Chrysander knowing. While he’d
relented about her taking the stairs in the earlier stages of her pregnancy, now
that she was so close to her due date he’d once again insisted she not walk the
stairs alone. He’d go insane now that she was nine months pregnant and, if the
pain ripping out her insides was any clue, about to deliver.
She stood on the step, holding on to the railing and taking
deep breaths. She’d have called out if she weren’t so busy sucking air through
her nose. Besides, Chrysander was busy with endless calls as he and Theron
worked out Theron’s relocation to the New York offices. Theron was taking over
operations there so Chrysander could remain in Europe. They had been tied up for
hours discussing security measures since her kidnappers were still at large.
When she heard footsteps above her, she straightened and tried
her best to look as though nothing was wrong. She glanced guiltily up to see
Chrysander standing at the top of the stairs, a disapproving expression marring
his face.
He started down, grumbling in Greek all the way. “What am I to
do with you,
agape mou?
” he asked when he got
close.
“Take me to the hospital?” she asked weakly. She doubled over
again as another contraction hit.
“Marley!
Pedhaki mou,
are you in
labor?” He didn’t even wait for a response, not that he needed one. He scooped
her into his arms and hurtled down the stairs, shouting for the helicopter
pilot, who had remained on the island for the last two weeks for just such an
event.
“Do not worry, my darling,” he said in uncharacteristic
English. “We’ll have you to the hospital in no time.”
“Darling?” She laughed and then ended it in a moan. “It hurts,
Chrysander.”
He paled as he climbed into the helicopter with her.
“You aren’t allowed to use English endearments,” she panted.
“Greek sounds so much sexier.”
“
Pedhaki mou, yineka mou, agape
mou,”
he whispered in her ear. My little one, my woman, my love.
“Much better,” she sighed. She smiled then winced again as they
lifted into the air. Chrysander was a basket case the entire way to the
hospital. The pilot set down on the roof, and a medical team was waiting to
usher her inside.
A mere hour later, with Chrysander hovering and holding her
hand, Dimitri Anetakis squirmed his way into the world to the delight of his
father and mother.
“He is beautiful,
agape mou,
”
Chrysander murmured as he leaned in close to mother and child. Dimitri was
nursing contentedly at Marley’s breast, and Chrysander watched in
fascination.
“He’s perfect,” she said in wonder. “Oh, Chrysander,
everything’s so perfect.”
He kissed her tenderly, his love for her overflowing his heart.
“S’agapo, yineka mou.”
She cupped his face and smiled up at him. “
S’agapo,
Chrysander. Always.”
* * * * *
USA TODAY
Bestselling Author
Carol Marinelli
Wanted:
Mistress and Mother
Dear Reader,
The idea for this story came at the end of a family holiday
to the U.S. I was supposed to not be writing, or even thinking about writing. We
had had a wonderful time in Florida and later New York, and right at the end of
the trip, I had been invited to stay at a friend’s. I was lying in her garden,
listening to the sound of summer and inhaling the scents and just really
enjoying the peace and tranquillity of a summer garden when the idea for this
story came to me.
My heroine, Matilda, fully understood the healing and peace a
garden can bring, whereas my hero, Dante, was determined to carry on with his
busy schedule and alpha ways. The attraction between these two opposites was
undeniable and I loved the strength in Matilda, who refused to comply with
Dante’s emotionally closed rules.
Happy reading,
Carol
Chapter 1
I
nappropriate
.
It was the first word that sprang to mind as dark, clearly
irritated eyes swung round to face her, black eyes that stared down at Matilda,
scrutinising her face unashamedly, making her acutely aware of her—for
once—expertly made-up face. The vivid pink lipstick the beautician had insisted
on to add a splash of colour to her newly straightened ash blonde hair and
porcelain complexion seemed to suddenly render her mouth immovable, as, rather
than slowing down to assist, the man she had asked for directions had instead,
after a brief angry glance, picked up speed and carried on walking.
Inappropriate, because generally when you stopped someone to
ask for directions, especially in a hospital, you expected to be greeted with a
courteous nod or smile, for the person to actually slow down, instead of
striding ahead and glaring back at you with an angry question of their own.
“Where?”
Even though he uttered just a single word, the thick, clipped
accent told Matilda that English wasn’t this man’s first language. Matilda’s
annoyance at this response was doused a touch. Perhaps he was in the hospital to
visit a sick relative, had just flown in to Australia from... In that split
second her mind worked rapidly, trying to place him—his appearance was
Mediterranean, Spanish or Greek perhaps, or maybe...
“Where is it you want to go?” he barked, finally deigning to
slow down a fraction, the few extra words allowing Matilda to place his strong
accent—he was Italian!
“I wanted to know how to find the function room,” she said
slowly, repeating the question she had already asked, berating her luck that the
only person walking through the maze of the hospital administration corridors
spoke little English. That the tall, imposing man she had had to resort to for
directions was blatantly annoyed at the intrusion. “I’m trying to get there for
the opening of the hospital garden. I’m supposed to be there in...” She glanced
down at her watch and let out a sigh of exasperation. “Actually, I was supposed
to be there five minutes ago.”
“Merda!”
As he glanced at his watch
the curse that escaped his lips, though in Italian, wasn’t, Matilda assumed,
particularly complimentary, and abruptly stepping back she gave a wide-eyed
look, before turning smartly on her heel and heading off to find her own way.
He’d made it exceptionally clear that her request for assistance had been
intrusive but now he was being downright rude. She certainly wasn’t going to
stand around and wait for the translation—she’d find the blessed function room
on her own!
“I’m sorry.” He caught up with her in two long strides, but
Matilda marched on, this angry package of testosterone the very last thing she
needed this morning.
“No, I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Matilda called back over
her shoulder, pushing the button—any button—on the lift and hoping to get the
hell out of there. “You’re clearly busy.”
“I was cursing myself, not you.” He gave a tiny grimace,
shrugged very wide shoulders in apology, which sweetened the explanation
somewhat, and Matilda made a mental correction. His English was, in fact,
excellent. It was just his accent that was incredibly strong—deep and heavy,
and, Matilda reluctantly noted, incredibly sensual. “I too am supposed to be at
the garden opening, I completely forgot that they’d moved the time forward. My
admin assistant has decided to take maternity leave.”
“How inconsiderate of her!” Matilda murmured under her breath,
before stepping inside as the lift slid open.
“Pardon?”
Beating back a blush, Matilda stared fixedly ahead,
unfortunately having to wait for him to press the button, as she was still none
the wiser as to where the function room was.
“I didn’t quite catch what you said,” he persisted.
“I didn’t say anything,” Matilda lied, wishing the floor would
open up and swallow her, or, at the very least, the blessed lift would get
moving. There was something daunting about him, something incredibly confronting
about his manner, his voice, his eyes, something very
inappropriate
.
There was that word again, only this time it had nothing to do
with his earlier rude response and everything to do with Matilda’s as she
watched dark, olive-skinned hands punching in the floor number, revealing a
flash of an undoubtedly expensive gold watch under heavy white cotton shirt
cuffs. The scent of his bitter, tangy aftershave was wafting over towards her in
the confined space and stinging into her nostrils as she reluctantly dragged in
his supremely male scent. Stealing a sideways glance, for the first time Matilda
looked at him properly and pieced together the features she had so far only
glimpsed.
He was astonishingly good-looking.
The internal admission jolted her—since her break-up with
Edward she hadn’t so much as looked at a man—certainly she hadn’t looked at a
man in
that
way. The day she’d ended their
relationship, like bandit screens shooting up at the bank counter, it had been
as if her hormones had been switched off. Well, perhaps not off, but even
simmering would be an exaggeration—the hormonal pot had been moved to the edge
of the tiniest gas ring and was being kept in a state of tepid indifference:
utterly jaded and completely immune.
Till now!
Never had she seen someone so exquisitely beautiful close up.
It was as if some skilled photographer had taken his magic wand and airbrushed
the man from the tip of his ebony hair right down to the soft leather of his
expensively shod toes. He seemed vaguely familiar—and she tried over and over to
place that swarthy, good-looking face, sure that she must have seen him on the
TV screen because, if she’d witnessed him in the flesh, Matilda knew she would
have remembered the occasion.
God, it was hot.
Fiddling with the neckline of her blouse, Matilda dragged her
eyes away and willed the lift to move faster, only realising she’d been holding
her breath when thankfully the doors slid open and she released it in a grateful
sigh, as in a surprisingly gentlemanly move he stepped aside, gesturing for her
to go first. But Matilda wished he’d been as rude on the fourth floor as he had
been on the ground, wished, as she teetered along the carpeted floor of the
administration wing in unfamiliar high heels, that she was walking behind
instead of ahead of this menacing stranger, positive, absolutely positive that
those black eyes were assessing her from a male perspective, excruciatingly
aware of his eyes burning into her shoulders. She could almost feel the heat
emanating from them as they dragged lower down to the rather too short second
half of her smart, terribly new charcoal suit. And if legs could have blushed,
then Matilda’s were glowing as she felt his burning gaze on calves that were
encased in the sheerest of stockings.
“Oh!” Staring at the notice-board, she bristled as he hovered
over her shoulder, reading with growing indignation the words beneath the
hastily drawn black arrow. “The opening’s been moved to the rooftop.”
“Which makes more sense,” he drawled, raising a curious,
perfectly arched eyebrow at her obvious annoyance, before following the arrow to
a different set of lifts. “Given that it is the rooftop garden that’s being
officially opened today and not the function room.”
“Yes, but...” Swallowing her words, Matilda followed him along
the corridor. The fact she’d been arguing for the last month for the speeches to
be held in the garden and not in some bland function room had nothing to do with
this man. Admin had decided that a brief champagne reception and speeches would
be held here, followed by a smooth transition to the rooftop where Hugh Keller,
CEO, would cut the ribbon.
The logistics of bundling more than a hundred people, in
varying degrees of health, into a couple of lifts hadn’t appeared to faze anyone
except Matilda—until now.
But her irritation was short-lived, replaced almost immediately
by the same flutter of nerves that had assailed her only moments before, her
palms moist as she clenched her fingers into a fist, chewing nervously on her
bottom lip as the lift doors again pinged open.
She didn’t want to go in.
Didn’t want that disquieting, claustrophobic feeling to assail
her again. She almost turned and ran, her mind whirring for excuses—a quick dash
to the loo perhaps, a phone call she simply had to make—but an impatient foot
was tapping, fingers pressing the hold button, and given that she was already
horribly late, Matilda had no choice.
* * *
Inadeguato.
As she stepped in hesitantly beside him, the word taunted
him.
In a
deguato
—to
be feeling like this, to be
thinking
like
this.
Dante could almost smell the arousal in the air as the doors
closed and the lift jolted upwards. But it wasn’t just her heady, feminine
fragrance that reached him as he stood there, more the presence of her, the...
He struggled for a word to describe his feelings for this delectable stranger,
but even with two languages at his disposal, an attempt to sum up what he felt
in a single word utterly failed him.
She was divine.
That was a start at least—pale blonde hair was sleeked back
from an elfin face, vivid green eyes were surrounded by thick eyelashes and that
awful lipstick she’d been wearing only moments ago had been nibbled away
now—revealing dark, full red lips, lips that were almost too plump for her
delicate face, and Dante found himself wondering if she’d had some work done on
herself, for not a single line marred her pale features, her delicate, slightly
snubbed nose absolutely in proportion to her petite features. She was certainly
a woman who took care of herself. Her eyes were heavily made up, her hair
fragranced and glossy—clearly the sort of woman who spent a lot of time in the
beauty parlour. Perhaps a few jabs of collagen had plumped those delicious lips
to kissable proportions, maybe a few units of Botox had smoothed the lines on
her forehead, Dante thought as he found himself scrutinising her face more
closely than he had a woman’s in a long time.
A very long time.
He knew that it was wrong to be staring, in a
deguato
to be feeling this stir of lust for a woman he
had never met, a woman whose name he didn’t even know.
A woman who wasn’t his wife.
The lift shuddered, and he saw her brow squiggle into a frown,
white teeth working her lips as the lift shuddered to a halt, and Dante’s Botox
theory went sailing out of the absent window!
“We’re stuck!” Startled eyes turned to him as the lift jolted
and shuddered to a halt, nervous fingers reaching urgently for the panel of
buttons, but Dante was too quick for her, his hand closing around hers, pulling
her finger back from hitting the panic button.
She felt as if she’d been branded—senses that had been on high
alert since she’d first seen him screeched into overdrive, her own internal
panic button ringing loudly now as his flesh closed around hers, the impact of
his touch sending her into a spin, the dry, hot sensation of his fingers
tightening around hers alarming her way more than the jolting lift.
“We are not stuck. This lift sometimes sticks here...see!” His
fingers loosened from hers and as the lift shuddered back into life, for the
first time Matilda noticed the gold band around his ring finger and it both
disappointed and reassured her. The simple ring told her that this raw,
testosterone-laden package of masculinity was already well and truly spoken for
and suddenly Matilda felt foolish, not just for her rather pathetic reaction to
the lift halting but for the intense feelings he had so easily evoked. She gave
an apologetic grimace.
“Sorry. I’m just anxious to get there!”
“You seem tense.”
“Because I
am
tense,” Matilda
admitted. The knowledge that he was married allowed her to let down her guard a
touch now, sure in her own mind she had completely misread things, that the
explosive reaction to him hadn’t been in the least bit mutual, almost convincing
herself that it was nerves about the opening that had set her on such a knife
edge. Realising the ambiguity of her statement, Matilda elaborated. “I hate this
type of thing—” she started, but he jumped in, actually nodding in
agreement.
“Me, too,” he said. “There are maybe a hundred places I have to
be this morning and instead I will be standing in some
stupido
garden on the top of a hospital roof, telling people how
happy I am to be there...”
“Stupid?” Matilda’s eyes
narrowed at his response, anger bristling in her as he, albeit unwittingly,
derided the months of painstaking work she had put into the garden they were
heading up to. “You think the garden is stupid?” Appalled, she swung around
to confront him, realising he probably didn’t know that she was the designer
of the garden. But that wasn’t the point—he had no idea who he was talking
to, had spouted his arrogant opinion with no thought to who might hear it,
no thought at all. But Dante was saved from her stinging response by the
lift doors opening.
“Don’t worry. Hopefully it won’t take too long and we can
quickly be out of there.” He rolled his eyes, probably expecting a sympathetic
response, probably expecting a smooth departure from this meaningless, fleeting
meeting, but Matilda was running behind him, tapping him smartly on the
shoulder.
“Have you any idea the amount of work that goes into creating a
garden like this?”
“No,” he answered rudely. “But I know down to the last cent
what it cost and, frankly, I can think of many more important things the
hospital could have spent its money on.”
They were walking quickly, too quickly really for Matilda, but
rage spurred her to keep up with him. “People will get a lot of pleasure from
this garden—sick people,” she added for effect, but clearly unmoved he just
shrugged.
