Mistress To a Latin Lover. Jane Porter
she leaned against the wall, her skin still damp, her muscles strung tight, her body quivering from the onslaught of tension and sensation. Maximos had virtually destroyed her.
An annihilation of the self and senses.
“So what did the great Maximos Guiliano have to say?” Emilio asked.
She turned her head and looked at Emilio but she couldn’t see him, couldn’t seem to see anything but the haze of love and lust which had just consumed her.
How could Maximos still do that to her? How could he possess her so quickly, so thoroughly, strip her of control and turn her into his?
Maybe she’d always be his…
Maybe there was no hope…
“He looked upset as he walked away,” Emilio continued. “Did you two have words?”
“Yes.”
“How sad.” Emilio’s lips tugged in a sadistic smile. “Fortunately we’ve got three days here. By the time we leave on Sunday, Maximos won’t even know what hit him.”
Or her, she thought, Emilio’s satisfaction puncturing her fog of misery. Emilio wanted to savor what he perceived as an early victory and all she wanted to do was slide to the floor and cover her head with her hands and cry like the little girl she’d once been.
This was wrong. Wrong every which way you looked at it. Morally, spiritually, intellectually, emotionally…
“Do you want to go back to the cocktail party or on up to our room?” Emilio asked, with a glance at his wristwatch. “Dinner will be served in about two hours.”
Cass couldn’t imagine returning to the salon for cocktails now. “I’d just as soon go to the room.”
“I’ll show you the way.”
Inside the bedroom she was to share with Emilio, Cass sank numbly onto the foot of the bed.
Emilio was moving around the room, inspecting the furniture, drapes, finishes. “It’s not the best room,” he said, closing the door behind him. “But it could be worse.”
She heard the door click shut and it filled her with fresh panic. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this. She barely knew Emilio and yet now she was supposed to share a bedroom with him for the next two nights and three days. “What’s happening later?” she asked, trying not to think about the fact that they were alone together.
“The rehearsal and then dinner after. We won’t attend the rehearsal but we’ll join them for dinner.”
“And we’re really invited?”
“The invitation was sent.”
“By the groom’s family,” she said.
“Yes.”
“But this is the bride’s home.”
Emilio cocked his head. “Just what did Maximos say to you anyway? The two of you were gone a long time. He had to have said something. Something about you being here with me…”
“He did.”
“And you told him about us? The engagement? The April wedding?”
“In Padua, yes.” She sighed, briefly closed her eyes, feeling knots of tension tighten along her neck and shoulders. “And why are we getting married in Padua?”
Emilio dropped into an armchair next to the foot of the bed. “Because it’s a place of particular personal significance to my dear friend Max. Tell me, what were his exact words when you told him about Padua?”
“Tell me the significance of Padua first.”
“I don’t want to spoil the fun.” Emilio stretched, put his arms behind his neck, and chuckled. “God, I would have loved to have been there for that little announcement. Maximos probably didn’t even know what hit him.”
Cass stiffened, disgusted. She hated Emilio’s voice, hated everything about him. Why had she agreed to come here with him? Why had she agreed to do this awful thing?
Maximos.
Maximos’s betrayal. And yet wasn’t she betraying him now? Wasn’t she doing the very thing she objected to most?
Her conscience smote her. She couldn’t bear hypocrisy and yet here she was, aligning herself with Emilio, inflicting pain on Maximos—the weekend of his sister’s wedding no less.
It was horrible. She was horrible.
“Chin up,” Emilio said. “The fun’s just beginning.”
She looked away, pressed her knuckles into the bed covering. “This is a mistake.”
“He hurt you, Cass.”
She shook her head, bit her lip.
“He did. He dumped you,” Emilio reminded. “Trashed you. Broke your heart.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Now that’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard. And you’re not pathetic, Cassandra Gardner. I’ve heard all about you. You’re ruthless at work. The original tigress. Don’t change your stripes now.”
He stood up, headed for the door. “I’m going back downstairs to get another drink. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
The last thing she needed was alcohol. Her head was already spinning enough. “Yes.”
“Okay. But don’t fall asleep. I’ll want you waiting when I return.”
Her head jerked up and her eyes, blazing, met his.
Emilio laughed. “Just kidding,” he said, and still laughing, he exited, closing the door loudly behind him.
CHAPTER THREE
CASS stared at the door until her eyes burned, stared so long she thought she’d frozen, turned to stone.
The closing of the door reminded her of all the times Maximos had left her, all the times he’d made love to her then dressed and walked out the door without so much as a backward glance.
She’d sat on her bed more than once watching Maximos leave, feeling sick inside, feeling that she’d agreed to the impossible.
Not that she’d thought it would be impossible when she first accepted the terms of the relationship with Maximos: No commitments. No promises. No guilt trips.
But that wasn’t all. There were the unsaid terms, the fine print that didn’t get read the first time around. But she’d been with Maximos long enough to know the fine print by heart now.
No scenes.
No emotions.
No needs.
Nothing stated, nothing implied, nothing demanded equaled nothing denied.
It was a bitter relationship, one so one-sided that it had hurt her night and day.
She realized in the first couple of months that with Maximos there’d be no marriage, no children, no family get-togethers. No attending functions as a couple, no traveling with others.
No, their relationship was based on the idea that they saw each other when it was convenient for him, that they had what they had, that they were satisfied with what they had.
But Cass had known for over a year before she confronted Maximos that she couldn’t bear to continue living with so little, or living as though she meant so little. It had quickly become unbearable being the woman on the side, the woman who was an ornament. A bit of fluff. A bit of fancy. She wasn’t even his woman. She was just his mistress.
Worse, he could go weeks without seeing her. He could go weeks without needing to speak to her. She wondered if he was even aware of the passage of time. Even aware that two weeks sometimes