The Married Mistress (2 page)

‘I do…’ she tried again, only to hear the words disintegrate as soon as they hit the air, splintering into tiny pieces that had none of the emphasis she aimed for.

And none of the impact she needed, she admitted to herself as she looked into her husband’s deep, dark eyes, and saw there only as much response to her protest as he might have shown if a fly had landed on the olive-toned skin of his arm and he had wafted it away idly with one hand. Instead his smile grew, becoming a broad, fiendish grin as he looked down at her.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he drawled in his softly accented tones. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

Before she could register just what the grin meant, before she had time to realise that she had also made mistake number three as well as one and two, the proud head had lowered swiftly and his mouth took hers in a searing kiss.

A kiss that swept away all pretence at resistance. One that slashed through her defences before she even had time to think about building them, sweeping them aside as a torrential flash-flood might deal with a few weakly rooted saplings it had found in its way, carrying them before it on its relentless, savage path.

Sarah was completely in the power of that storm force. Under attack from a bewildering, devastating array of emotions, she simply closed her eyes and went under, surrendering to the deepest, most elemental demand of all. That of total sensuality.

It was like the first kiss she had ever experienced and yet it was like no other she had ever known. It started hard and fierce and demanding, but instantly gentled as in spite of herself she opened up to him, her mouth softening under his, her lips parting, allowing the arrogantly knowing invasion of his tongue.

She was lost, drowning in sensation, losing all sense of substance, of strength, of reality. The ground was unsteady beneath her feet, the hallway in which she stood just a haze of blue, pale and dark, and the hum of the traffic outside, always present in any part of London, a blur of noise, the buzzing soundtrack to the frantic racing of her heart.

She wanted none of this, her mind screamed at her. Wanted nothing—and yet she wanted
everything
. She longed desperately for him to release her and in the same thought she prayed that he would hold on to her forever, never letting her go. Letting her go would mean that she was once more cast adrift into the emptiness of being alone,
the devastation of loneliness that was all her life had been since their brief marriage had broken up. And, having endured it once, she knew it was something she could not go through again.

‘Excuse me.’

The cold, clipped words vaguely penetrated the heated haze that enclosed Sarah’s thoughts, reaching her only as a tone, not any sort of meaning. But that tone was a million miles away from the ostensibly polite phrase, carrying with it a load of barely controlled fury and cold disbelief.

‘Excuse
me
,’ Jason repeated, with cutting emphasis.

That at least had some effect on Damon. It made him pause, stilling his mouth on Sarah’s, lifting it slightly away from her.

‘Yes?’

It was curt and disdainful, insultingly so. If Jason’s interjection had been cool, then Damon’s response was nothing short of icy.

‘What is it?’

He was still so close that she could feel the whisper of his breath over her skin as he spoke, still taste him on her lips and her tongue. His scent still lingered tantalisingly in her nostrils. It took a shocking effort to crush down the instinctive, weakly betraying murmur of protest that almost escaped her, and to her horror her hands had actually lifted to pull him back to her before she realised what was happening and determinedly forced them back down again. Only by curling her fingers into tight, defensive fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms, did she feel that she had regained enough control not to give herself away completely.

‘What can I do for you?’

Damon’s words were addressed to Jason, tossed at him with arrogant contempt, so that for a moment or two the
other man floundered, knowing that he had definitely lost ground, but not really sure how to go about regaining it.

‘I…I’d like to know…’

The fool was definitely rocked, clearly knocked off balance, Damon thought privately, allowing himself a small, grim smile of satisfaction at the sight of Jason’s uncomfortably flushed face, the look of angry confusion in his eyes. And that was exactly how he wanted it. It fitted perfectly with the plan he had come up with while standing by the front door, watching the little drama that had unfolded before him.

He wanted Jason—and Sarah—off balance and unsure of what to do next. Unsure of themselves—and of him.

He wanted them totally on edge and wondering just how he was going to react.

And so he forced himself to smile into Jason’s belligerent face, clearly taking the other man even more by surprise.

‘Yes?’ he enquired politely, not lessening his grip on the woman in his arms for a moment.

It wasn’t purely for display. Wasn’t just part of the image he wanted to present to this other male—the intruder into his territory, the alien who threatened the peace of his domestic set up.

The truth was that, having once got Sarah back into his arms again after the length of time without her, he simply couldn’t let go. He had waited so long for this, dreamed of it, imagined it in the long, dark silences of the night. And now that he’d finally achieved his aim, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—relinquish it without a fight.

The bitter irony was that it wasn’t the sort of reunion he had dreamed of. There had been no other man involved in his imaginings, and certainly no one like Jason or the blonde-haired floozy in the red gown who was still upstairs on the landing, hanging halfway over the banisters, watch
ing everything that was going on with an avid, open-mouthed curiosity.

But a true gambler had to play the hand that fate had dealt him. And these were the only cards he had, so he had no choice.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well…’ Jason blustered, even more disconcerted than before. ‘Can’t you see?’

‘No, I can’t, I’m afraid.’ Damon’s tone oozed fake sincerity, apparent concern. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to explain. Just what is it that’s puzzling you?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Jason’s temper was rapidly escaping from his control. ‘It’s you! You’re the problem! Just who the hell are you?’

‘Who the hell am I?’ Damon echoed, pretending to give the matter some consideration, though Sarah was fully convinced that he already knew exactly what he was going to say. ‘I thought you knew. But, as you obviously don’t, then I shall have to explain to you. I—’

He broke off, glancing down sharply as Sarah moved convulsively, just once, in the circle of his arms. He turned a brief, reproving frown on her, tightened his grip momentarily, warningly, and watched with grim satisfaction as she subsided back into rebellious silence.

‘I’ll tell you who the hell I am. You need to know anyway, seeing as this concerns you rather a lot. You see,
kyrie
Jason, I am the new man in the lovely Sarah’s life. In fact, I am the man who has just replaced you in this lady’s bed.’

And, hearing Sarah’s gasp of indignant fury, seeing her open her mouth to voice an outraged protest, he bent his dark head and silenced her in the most effective way he could think of—by taking her mouth in another of those long, passionate and ruthlessly demanding kisses.

B
UT
this was a very different sort of kiss.

This was no longer the beguiling, seductive caress of just moments before. It was a kiss of anger, of domination, of possession, which stamped her as Damon’s as clearly as if it had been a white-hot branding iron pressed to her skin.

And the truth was that Damon believed that she
was
his to do with as he pleased, until he decided otherwise. He had never truly been prepared to let her go. He had only let her walk out on him because she had given him no choice. She had waited until he was away, as he so often was, on business, and then she had packed her bags and fled from the island.

People just did not do that sort of thing to Damon Nicolaides. Certainly,
women
never did it to him. He made all the running where the women in his life were concerned. He made the first moves; he decreed how long a relationship lasted. And when he was tired and bored, when he felt that things had come to their natural end—as they inevitably did—then Damon was the one who walked away without a backward glance. Not the woman he was leaving.

Sarah had broken all those rules. And as a result she knew that Damon had never forgiven her—would never forgive her. He would hold the memory of what he considered to be her betrayal and the insult to his fiercely macho pride deep in the darkness of his unloving heart, and he would never let it go.

‘Damon…’ she managed against the demand of his mouth, struggling to make it a protest, hearing only the sigh of acquiescence in her tone. ‘I—’ 20

‘Hush,
agape mou
,’ he reproved, infuriatingly more in control than she had ever been, so that she heard in his words a fake softness. A gentleness that he could never have meant but that he managed to communicate with total credibility. ‘Leave this to me.’

‘But—’

Again she tried to protest, and again she failed as once more he kissed her into submission, this time stealing her soul away with a stunningly enticing caress, one that made her senses swoon and her heart sing with rare delight.

‘Leave this to me,’ he had told her, his tone redolent with a supreme confidence that she would do exactly as he instructed.

And, weakly, she knew that she would. There was nothing else she could do. The ability to act, along with any hope she had of even thinking straight, had evaporated swiftly in the heat of her instant reaction to him. Just his very closeness, to be held so tightly in the warm strength of his arms, crushed up against the hard wall of his chest, had been bad enough, depriving her of the control, the restraint that she had believed she’d acquired in her time apart from him. But the sensations sparked off by those kisses had made everything infinitely worse, buzzing round in her head, fizzing through her body, until she was incapable of thought.

Those three very different kisses had revealed so perfectly the many sides of Damon’s nature. In his make-up, the supremely gentle, irresistibly seductive blended so perfectly with the cruel, the almost brutal ruthlessness that was the opposite side of his personality. The negative to the positive, darkness as opposed to light. She had known them all in her short time with him, and at first she had believed that the gentle, enticing character had been the real man.

She had been very quickly—and very thoroughly—disillusioned. Life, and Damon’s father, had stripped her of
her rose-tinted spectacles with ruthless efficiency. And from then onwards she had never been able to look at him in the same way.

‘You’re
who
?’ Jason demanded, the bluster in his voice showing how rattled he was.

‘The name is Damon Nicolaides,’ Damon tossed at him, clearly expecting, and getting, the instant start of response that always came with the recognition of his name.

‘Nicolaides?’ Jason’s voice shook.

Everyone knew who Damon was. Everyone.

His wealth and his international, jet-setting life put his name and his photograph into the society pages. His relationships with models and actresses, his friendships with film producers and media moguls kept him in the celebrity magazines, where his stunningly masculine looks made a huge impact on every female reader from sixteen to seventy. His money and power meant that he frequently appeared in financial columns, and his ability to constantly acquire more of both made sure that his reputation was as huge as his business empire.

‘
Damon
Nicolaides?’

He was clearly the last person Jason had expected to come up against in this particular situation. How the hell could
she
know
him
? The question was obviously in his thoughts, revealed in his stunned intonation.

‘That’s right.’

Sarah knew that tone of Damon’s voice well—too well. Careful, polite, controlled—but only just.

It meant that Damon was right at the edge of his patience. That he would not take pushing any further or any harder. Not if the person he was talking to was wise and wanted to avoid a full-scale volcanic explosion.

‘Jason…’ she tried, only to feel her body given a small, rough shake of warning by the man who held her.

‘Let me answer the questions, Sarah. It’s simpler that way.’

‘Simpler!’ she couldn’t help protesting. ‘For who?’

‘For everyone!’

The admonition that had been in the way he had shaken her was there again, more strongly this time, in the undercurrents in his voice, a note that sent a shiver down her spine in unnerved response.

This was the Damon she had seen in the past, when some member of his staff had angered him with a foolish mistake, or a journalist had proved too intrusive. It was the prelude to a much more savage outburst, one that made her shudder in fearful anticipation. She had only ever experienced that side of Damon briefly, but that had been enough. She never wanted to see it again.

‘Everyone?’

Damon bent his dark head again until his sensual mouth was level with her ear, the warmth of his breath stirring the auburn tendrils of hair that lay against her cheek.

‘Do you want me to get rid of him or not?’

Oh, yes, she wanted Jason out of here. Out of her house, and out of her life. And she wished he’d take Damon with him. But that, she knew, was not the slightest bit likely.

And so, grasping at what she could see was the only possible lesser of two evils, she clamped her lips tight shut on the furious protest that almost escaped her once more and forced herself to nod in silent acquiescence.

It was all that Damon needed. Satisfied that she had handed over control of the situation into his hands, he faced Jason again.

‘Was there anything else you wanted to know?’

Everything, if she knew Jason, Sarah thought. But he contented himself with one question, his voice wobbling on a note of disbelief.

‘You claim that you two are an item?’

‘Not claim,’ Damon retorted sharply. ‘We are.’

As if to prove his point, he pulled her closer, one steel-hard arm coming round her to hold her just where he wanted her, staking his claim. One ear, one cheek was against his chest, muffling her hearing. But she caught Jason’s dumbfounded response.

‘And you agree with this, Sarry?’

Another silent nod was all she could manage. Just let Damon get rid of Jason, she prayed inwardly, and then she would get rid of Damon. If she could. Damon in one of these stubborn, determined moods was as immovable as a rock, and every bit as hard.

‘So when did you two meet—and where?’

‘The art gallery reception last night,’ Damon stunned her by retorting immediately, and totally unexpectedly. ‘You must have noticed that she didn’t come home. Or perhaps not…’

The movement of his head told its own story. Sarah didn’t even have to look to know that he had directed his black-eyed gaze across the room and up to where Jason’s bedroom companion still lingered, watching everything, silently agog with curiosity.

So silently that Sarah had almost forgotten she was there.

‘I’m sure you were otherwise engaged.’

Damon was fast losing patience now. The sordid little drama he had interrupted might have amused him for a while, but its appeal was strictly limited, and it was evaporating rapidly. He wanted Jason and his trollop out of the house as fast as possible. If they didn’t move now then he couldn’t guarantee that he would be able to keep a strict hold on his temper. And if it slipped from his control then he couldn’t be answerable for the consequences. Things could get really messy.

And the worst part of it all was having to admit just what
was affecting him most. Which certainly wasn’t this sleazy rat and his cheap little tart, that was for sure.

‘I wasn’t here last night! My name’s Andrea, by the way.’

It was the other woman who spoke, and Sarah felt a shock of instant recognition at her tone, bringing with it the kick of some primitive reaction deep down inside her. Even fresh from another man’s bed as she was, this Andrea had still responded to Damon’s forcefully macho appearance with a predatory interest that put a husky purr of sensuality into her tone. Wriggling slightly in the iron-hard hold, Sarah could just peer upwards to where the voluptuous woman was leaning over the banisters, displaying an ample amount of what she clearly thought was enticing cleavage.

But Damon appeared far from enticed.

‘You’re here now,’ he flung up at her. ‘And I’d much prefer it if you weren’t. So get some clothes on and get yourself and your lover out of here—fast! Or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’

Andrea pouted petulantly at his tone, but she read it well enough to know that he meant exactly what he said. Flouncing into the bedroom, she must have tossed on clothes at speed, pushed into action by the threat in Damon’s tone, because it was only minutes before she reappeared, fully dressed in a tight white shirt and the miniest of miniskirts, the red satin robe slung carelessly over one arm. Clopping inelegantly down the stairs in white sling-back stilettos, she marched over to the small group in the hall.

‘I believe this is yours.’

She tossed the robe onto the floor at their feet, then turned to the still staring Jason and caught hold of his arm.

‘C’mon, Jace,’ she said. ‘It’s time we were out of here.’

‘I should listen to the lady,
Jace
…’ Damon laced both
the nickname and the word ‘lady’ with the stinging bite of acidic sarcasm. ‘It
is
time you were going.’

‘But—’ Jason began, then looked straight into Damon’s deep black eyes and clearly thought better of what he had been about to say.

‘OK,’ he muttered. ‘I’m coming.’

But there was something in his voice that told Sarah he was not finished yet. That he had more to say—or do—before he left them in peace.

Instinctively she tensed in Damon’s arms, waiting, wondering…

But whatever she had feared never came.

The slam of the door behind the departing pair was a sudden shock to her system, jarring every nerve in her tense body and making her head jerk upwards from its secure pillowing on Damon’s hard chest.

‘It’s OK.’

Lazily he stilled her, soothed her with a stroking hand down over her hair, her shoulder, her arm.

‘They’ve gone.’ He looked down at her, grinned into her warily watchful green eyes. ‘It’s safe to come out now.’

‘I wasn’t scared!’

Desperately, Sarah tried to gather together some of the tattered strands of her shattered self-esteem so as to meet the smile in his eyes with some degree of composure. He looked too damn pleased with himself by half.

‘I
wasn’t
!’ she repeated more emphatically, to answer the tormenting question that was clearly in his thoughts, lifting the corner of one jet-black eyebrow in mocking inquiry. ‘I was simply—held prisoner by you.’

To emphasise the point she twisted in his still restraining arms, attempting to pull herself free. At first, for a heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to resist, forcing her into either an ungainly and undignified struggle or a humiliating submission. But then, suddenly, he released
her with an abruptness that had her swaying uncomfortably on unsteady feet, stubbornly refusing to reach out a hand and cling on to the strength of his arms for support.

The fact that he so obviously knew exactly what was going through her mind only added a hundredfold to her discomfiture. She hated the way that the gleam in his eyes brightened, the tiny quirk upwards at the corner of his lips revealing his amusement.

‘So now you’re free,’ he drawled softly.

‘Yes,’ Sarah managed, adding because she felt she had to, ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

He was bending as he spoke, reaching down to scoop up the red robe from where Andrea had tossed it moments before.

‘This is yours, I believe.’

Sarah turned a glance of loathing on the inoffensive article that Damon held out to her. It was impossible not to notice the contrast between the strength of the blunt, strong, tanned fingers and the fine, slippery material that seemed totally insubstantial in the firm grasp. But the thought of touching either made her shiver inside.

Slowly she reached out, took hold of the crimson silk, then gave in to her inclinations and, crushing the garment mercilessly, she crumpled it into a ball and flung it with all her strength as far away from her as she could manage.

‘I don’t want it! Not after she’s worn it! I couldn’t bear to touch it again.’

Damon’s dark eyes followed the bright sliver of material as it sailed through the air in a graceful arc and fell to the ground once more. Then his gaze swung back to Sarah’s face, looking deep into her eyes.

‘I’ll buy you another.’

‘No need—I…’

The words died away as she realised not just what he
had said but the implications behind it. Clearly Damon planned to stay around, for a while at least. And that was not something she was comfortable with. Certainly not after the scene he had just witnessed, and the interpretation he had obviously put on it. And, even worse, after the discovery that she had made about herself.

‘I can get one myself. I earn a good salary at the art gallery; I can afford to buy myself a nightgown…’