Mistress Of Deception. Miranda Lee
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slumped into the back seat of the taxi, strain telling on her face. The façade she always put on in a vain attempt to punish Alan was beginning to take its toll. How long before she actually became that person for real? Brittle and cynical and cruel.
It was the cruel part that bothered her the most.
There was no doubt about it. She had to get out from under the crippling effects of this appalling affair before she self-destructed.
Sighing, Ebony closed her eyes, her head tipping back against the seat. It wasn’t far from her flat in Randwick to the Ramada Hotel, but at eight-thirty in the morning she was in for at least half an hour’s run into the city. Might as well try to rest.
Rest was not on the agenda for her troubled soul that morning, however. She was too full of regrets and bitter recriminations, the main one being why she had allowed Alan to become her lover in the first place. There’d been no seduction, no courtship, no nothing. All he’d done was look at her a few times on the night of her twenty-first birthday party.
But that was all it had taken to start her heart beating madly for him, not to mention make her grasp at straws where his feelings were concerned, especially when once or twice she had surprised him staring at her with desire in his eyes. Had he too not forgotten that kiss in the library three years before? she’d begun wondering. Could he have been lying that night, saying he didn’t really want her when all along he had?
It would be the sort of gallant thing Alan might do, she’d reasoned, considering his over-active sense of responsibility towards those under his care. He was very protective of all the females in his family, including his mother and that wayward sister of his. Maybe he’d believed that, at eighteen, Ebony was too young for him, far too young to embark on the kind of relationship he might want and need; certainly far too young for marriage.
That possibility had tormented her for the rest of the party, sparking a resolve to confront Alan later that night. She’d long given up any hope of getting the man out of her system, so, if there was a chance that some twisted scruple was keeping them apart, then she’d aimed to try to unravel it. Who knew? Maybe her turning twenty-one had already heralded a change in his attitude towards her. Maybe he was now beginning to think of her as a grown woman, an adult, not the child who’d come into his home as a young and innocent fifteen-year-old.
This train of thought had excited her. Why hadn’t she reasoned this all out before? Of course that was it! His sexual response three years ago had made him feel guilty. But there was no longer any need for guilt. Couldn’t he see that? She couldn’t wait to talk to him alone, to tell him that time had not changed what she felt for him, but that time had changed the status quo between them. He was no longer her guardian in any way. He was simply a man, as she was a woman.
But when she had turned round from seeing the last guest leave shortly after one-thirty, it had been to find Alan saying an abrupt goodnight and striding off to bed. Frustrated at having her wishes thwarted, Ebony had wandered around the house for ages, helping clean up, afterwards sitting alone in the kitchen, finishing off one of the half-empty bottles of champagne, thinking it might help her sleep.
No such luck. It had fizzed through her veins, sparking further restlessness. Having swallowed the last drop of wine, she had walked out on to the back patio and down the steps to the next terrace where she had stood and stared, first out across the darkened harbour waters, then down at the heated pool.
A swim will tire me out, she’d decided, make me sleep…
Positive she was alone, Ebony had slipped the tiny straps of her black crêpe party dress off her shoulders, shimmying till it had slid down over her hips and pooled on to the pebble-effect concrete. Stepping out of the circle, she had kicked off her shoes then peeled off her panties and tights.
The night air might have felt cool on her naked flesh, if her blood hadn’t been so heated by the wine. She had balanced for a few moments on the edge of the pool before flicking her long sweep of hair back over her shoulders and diving into the water.
If she had known for a second that Alan had been sitting in the shadows of the pool-house, she would never have dreamt of being so provocative as to go skinny-dipping in front of him. She certainly wouldn’t have floated up and down the pool on her back, idly splashing water over her breasts and stomach.
She’d really believed herself alone when she had climbed out of the water, and stood there, wringing her hair dry. Her shock when he had materialised out of the darkness had been very real. But he hadn’t allowed her any opportunity to speak, or explain. He had simply swept her hard against him, uncaring if his clothes were ruined, uncaring of anything but his ruthless intention to reduce her to a trembling mass of unconditional surrender.
It hadn’t been difficult. She’d been half aroused already from the way he’d looked at her earlier in the night. That, combined with her long-suppressed love just dying for expression, had made her a ready victim for his lust.
The trouble was she hadn’t interpreted his actions as lust at the time. She’d mistakenly believed that he had finally realised his own love for her, had at last given in to an extremely powerful and very natural need to make love to her.
Ebony groaned silently at the memory of her very rapid capitulation.
How could she have been so naïve not to have seen there was nothing loving in the way he had kissed her and touched her? His hands had been quite rough on her flesh, demanding no quarter. But by the time he’d pulled her over down on top of him on one of the deck-chairs, she’d been beside herself with passion and emotion. Alan loved her and desired her and needed her. There had been no question of not doing what he had clearly so desperately wanted.
Even now she could still recall the animal cry of satisfaction he had emitted when his body had finally fused with hers. Never mind that he hadn’t waited to undress properly, or that someone could have come down from the house and caught them in the act. She had been making love to the man she loved and who loved her.
It was not till the morning after that she was forced to review her way of looking at their first coupling, then all their subsequent couplings during that long and tempestuous night. Not till Alan had made his appalling suggestion in his bed at dawn had Ebony seen that what she’d thought of as love on his part had been only lust, and that his ‘making love’ to her had been no more than ‘having sex’.
She had hoped to become Alan’s wife. Instead he’d offered her the role of his secret mistress. She hadn’t been at all happy about it, but he’d secured her continued co-operation by turning up at her flat when least expected, then seducing her with a finesse that was as intoxicating as it was merciless.
For fourteen months, she’d endured his spasmodic visits, dying a little each time he came and left, hating herself for her weakness, yet unable to stop. More than once, she’d vowed to cut him dead, to send him away, unsatisfied. Whether he had sensed this or not, she couldn’t be sure. But whenever she’d reached that point, he wouldn’t come near her for weeks. Then he’d turn up out of the blue and, without saying a word, take her into his arms and start kissing her before she could utter a word of protest.
Those were the worst times—and the best—their lovemaking on the edge of violence, but so passionate and intense that she would despair afterwards of ever being able to give him up.
Could she now? Would she have the courage to take that step and walk away? No, fly away.
‘Lady! We’re here,’ the taxi driver growled.
Ebony snapped to attention. Already the concierge at the Ramada was opening the car door for her. Checking the fare on the meter, she handed the driver a twenty-dollar note, told him to keep the change, then alighted with her usual style. Old habits died hard, and she was a model first, cool and composed and sophisticated. The shattered woman inside would remain hidden from everyone, even Gary. She was not about to tell him all the grim details of her relationship with Alan, only enough to make her plan feasible.
‘Bob says you didn’t come