Accidental Mistress (2 of 2 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
Accidental Mistress by Susan Napier. Copyright 2007 by Susan Napier.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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CHAPTER ONE (CONT'D)

Emily skirted the door to the ground-floor bathroom where she had earlier blundered in on two glamorous, model-thin waifs bent over streaks of white powder on the onyx vanity. Their giggling invitation to join them had been punctuated by the hoarse cries of an anonymous man and his stridently vocal sex partner making boisterous use of the adjoining toilet cubical. Mentally scrubbing away at the sordid memory, Emily concentrated on pushing past the jiggling throng at the entrance to the formal lounge where a DJ was pumping up the volume. A stray elbow jabbed her in the kidney and she stumbled, shunting up against a sweaty, over-excited male who took the accidental thrust of her breasts as an open invitation to paw at her plunging cleavage.

Her laden hands trapped aloft by the crush, Emily was momentarily helpless against his clumsy lechery. She jerked her head aside from the wet-lipped lunge of the stranger’s mouth, uttering a furious cry of protest as she squirmed away from a bruising hand groping up under the short skirt of her black lace dress. No one seemed to notice or care what was happening to her and for an awful moment she thought she was going to be violated right there amongst the bobbing dancers.

Fear and anger kicked her self-protective instincts into action and she threw up a driving knee, gratified to feel it strike home with crushing force. Her violent recoil tilted her wrists and squeals and curses erupted when a cascade of ice-cubes jounced out of the glasses to hail down on the surrounding heads, including that of her erstwhile assailant.

‘Sorry!’ Emily yelled insincerely, relieved to feel herself yanked backwards out of the dangerous mêlée by a big hand hooking into the belt of her wraparound dress and swinging her around the corner into a relatively less-crowded arm of the branching hall.

She lowered her aching arms and smiled gratefully up at her saviour, clutching the dripping glasses and slippery bottle close to her over-exposed chest, well away from his superbly cut black suit and crisp white shirt front. At five feet six Emily didn’t consider herself to be short, but even in high heels she had to crank her neck back to see higher than the sharp jut of his smooth-shaven jaw above the immaculate collar. Unfortunately, the fresh spatters of moisture on her thickly applied mascara were causing it to clump, making it increasingly difficult to pry her eyelashes apart and interfering with her vision.

‘Thanks—’ she said breathlessly, still shaken by her struggle, rapidly blinking to try to untangle her sticky black lashes and focus properly on his face.

She succeeded just in time to see him turn his back and walk away, and with a shock she registered the look of cold contempt on his hard features. It was like a sharp slap in the face, cutting off the nervous laugh that had bubbled to her lips and leaving her stranded in embarrassment.

For a few moments after he disappeared she stood rooted to the spot, trying to convince herself that she had misread her fleeting glimpse of his expression, but the vivid impression of a pair of steel-blue eyes iced with disdain remained graphically clear in her memory.

Her cheeks burned as if the slap had been physical. He hadn’t even lingered long enough to acknowledge her thanks. Perhaps he had been regretting coming to her rescue—or having second thoughts about whether she had required rescuing at all! Perhaps he had judged her a sexual tease who had bitten off more than she could chew... the type of woman who got off on flaunting herself at a man until he lost control. He had probably thought that her wildly batting eyes and breathless voice had been her crass attempt at a sexy come-on.

But this isn’t really me! she wanted to rush after him and explain.

Then she berated herself for caring. What did it matter what anyone at this wretched party thought of her current guise? It wasn’t as if she was likely to run into any of them again, and even if she did they wouldn’t recognise her as her normal, everyday self.

Emily gripped the slippery drinks with renewed determination and doggedly pushed on towards the rear of the house. Okay, so perhaps she had overcompensated a trifle with the blatantly sexual combination of black fishnet tights, shiny stilettos and ultra-short, take-me-off dress, but she had known that she couldn’t rely on her rather ordinary face and old-fashioned good manners to get her where she had needed to be tonight. She had already tried the ladylike approach and been rebuffed. She couldn’t wait any longer.

Tonight was literally her last chance to repay the enormous debt of gratitude she owed her grandfather. If she succeeded, it would have been well worth the temporary humiliation, and if not—well, at least she would know she had tried her best...

With that thought in mind she found the courage to face down the huge, muscle-bound Neanderthal who tried to stop her entering the short hall that led to the family wing.

‘Party’s back that way,’ he growled, planting a grimy black boot on the wall in front of her, barring her way with his beefy leg, and pointing his bottle of beer over her shoulder.

She wisely forbore to point out that he was scuffing the paintwork. ‘I’m with the, private party,’ she reminded him with a reproachful pout. ‘I went out for more drinks?’ Her plaintive upward lilt encouraged his tiny brain to make the connection.

‘Oh, yeah, that was you,’ he grunted, lowering his leg with a heavy thud. ‘So what took you so long?’

She imagined pouring the bottle over his dreadlocked head and gave him a dazzling smile. ‘There was big a queue for the toilet.’

‘Huh?’ His eyebrows crawled like hairy caterpillars across his jutting forehead. ‘Oh—I get it,’ he said, his beady eyes lightening with an evil grin. ‘Did you bring enough for me?’

Oh, God, he thought she was talking about drugs! she realised, her smile dimming. ‘Sorry—maybe next trip,’ she blurted recklessly, sashaying towards the solid, wood-sheathed metal door at the far end of the hall.

‘Have fun! I know Mikey is big into girl-on-girl when he’s hammered!’ His meaty chuckle made her skin shrink as she levered open the door-handle with her elbow and slipped inside.

There were no speakers installed here, and the sounds of the party barely penetrated the thick walls and heavy door of the opulently furnished ‘safe’ room.

Her eyes flew immediately to the polished side table against the wall opposite the white leather couch. The blue and white porcelain ‘pilgrim’ flask was still there, small and unobtrusive, its delicate beauty quite beneath the notice of the other four occupants of the lamp-lit room.

Thank goodness it hadn’t been placed in one of the glass-fronted cabinets that lined the room, she thought as she crossed to the man lolling on the couch.

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