Mistress for a Month Read online

  Rico still could not believe he was actually doing this. Talk about masochistic!

  But all the self-lectures in the world were not going to change his mind. Rico had always believed in going after what he wanted, at least till it was irrevocably certain that he could not have what he wanted, such as a career on the stage. Then and only then did he move on from such a goal, putting his energies into something more attainable.

  So till Renée looked him straight in the face and said no way, José to going out with him, Rico harboured some small hope that he might succeed in his mission improbable. He even managed to convince himself during the brief drive over to Randwick that he had a reasonable chance of success.

  After all, the merry widow had no permanent partner. If she had, such a partner would surely have accompanied her to the races sometimes. Yet she always came alone. Added to that was the interesting fact that, except on the rare occasion she’d gone overseas on a business trip, she always showed up to play poker on a Friday night. What woman involved with, or living with, some man would be so consistent?

  Not that Rico imagined for one moment Renée was leading a nun-like lifestyle. She had to have had men friends since becoming a widow. Lovers, in other words. It had been over five years after all, far too long a time for a woman like her to have spent every night alone.

  For some reason—possibly self-protection—Rico hadn’t given much thought in the past to whom Renée actually slept with. Suddenly, this subject was the sole focus of his brain. After discarding all sorts of scenarios from secret affairs with married men to one-night stands with commitment-phobic divorcees, he decided she probably enjoyed strictly sexual flings with the toy-boy variety, selected from the huge stable of young male models who were contracted to her modelling agency.

  Rico could easily see Renée in that kind of relationship. She would always want to be the boss, to always be on top.

  The thought of her being on top of him did things to his body which hadn’t been done so swiftly or so savagely since he was a teenager. He winced then tried to rearrange the bulge in his trousers to ease his discomfort, but it was a lost cause. Nothing was going to solve his problem, nothing except full body contact with Renée.

  As Rico turned into the Randwick street where Ward’s home and stables were located, he vowed to succeed in making Renée go out with him—and go to bed with him—even if he had to sell his soul to the devil to do so!

  The sight of her blue BMW parked at the kerb right outside Ward’s front gate gave Rico’s black resolve a momentary jolt. She was there, waiting for him to make a fool of himself. No escape now, not unless he wimped out. And Rico was no wimp.

  For a split-second the car-lined street almost gave him an excuse to drive on, to forget this insane mission. But then a gap presented itself in between a silver Jag and a dark blue Merc. Ward’s owners were not short of a dollar. With a resigned sigh, Rico expertly angled his Ferrari into the rather tight spot and cut off the engine.

  After a glance at his watch—it was getting on for one—he dragged himself out from behind the wheel, slammed the door and zapped the immobiliser. Almost as an afterthought, he checked his appearance in the side-mirror, finger-combing his messy hair back from his face before frowning at the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. He never shaved on the weekend—something Renée had no doubt noticed in the past—so he hadn’t wanted it to seem as if he’d been sprucing himself up specially for her.

  Still, given he was planning to ask her out—view full sex at the end of the night—this now seemed a stupid train of thought. Totally…utterly…stupid! Which meant he was running true to form. Once Renée came into the equation in anything he did, off went his head and on went a pumpkin.

  But faint heart never won fat turkey, Rico reminded himself doggedly. Or the hand of the fair lady. Not that he wanted to marry the merry widow. He wasn’t that crazy! All he wanted was a few nights in her bed, after which he was sure that this perverse sexual obsession he’d been suffering from these past five years would burn itself out.

  He didn’t love her. Lord, no. No way! What was there to love? She was no better than Jasmine, really. Just another hard-nosed, hard-hearted, mercenary madam who specialised in making fools of men, namely him.

  With that charming thought in mind, Rico slid his hands into the pockets of his black trousers and walked somewhat reluctantly back up the street to Ward’s establishment, throwing Renée’s BMW a testy look as he passed by. She must have been the first guest to arrive to get such a prize spot.

  Rico stood for a moment at Ward’s front gate, staring blankly up at the trainer’s very stylish two-storey home and trying to get his brain into gear. All the owners would have finished visiting their horses by now. They’d all be inside, tucking into the champers and caviare. All except…Renée.

  More than likely she’d still be at the stables, fussing over their syndicate’s most expensive purchase to date, a three-year-old black colt which they’d bought from Ali as a yearling but which had gone seriously shin-sore during his first preparation and been turned out to mature. He’d been back in training for a few weeks, and Ward’s PA had told Rico on the phone the other night—the notoriously taciturn trainer rarely spoke to owners in person over the phone—that Ebony Fire had come back a treat and was working the place down. No doubt Lisa had relayed the same news to Renée.

  Although Rico knew surprisingly little about Renée on a personal basis, he knew how she felt about the horses she owned and part-owned. She loved them. Loved being around them. Loved touching them and talking to them. On the couple of occasions that he had come to an open Sunday prior to today, Renée had been difficult to pry away from the stables.

  ‘I don’t come here to eat,’ she’d snapped at him once when he’d suggested going inside for lunch. ‘I come here to visit with my horses.’

  Rico smiled wryly at the memory. Oh, yes. She would not have gone inside yet. He was sure of it.

  Which was a comfort. The prospect of propositioning the object of his desire in privacy was infinitely preferable to doing so in a roomful of people where others might hear her hysterical laughter. This way, he could keep his humiliation to himself.

  Scooping in a deep and hopefully calming breath, he spun on his heels and headed for the side-path, which bypassed Ward’s house and led round to where the stables were located at the rear of the property. At the end of this path was a gate which was always manned by a security guard. Today’s man was called Jed, a big, beefy fellow who knew all of Ward’s owners by sight.

  ‘Afternoon, Mr Mandretti,’ Jed said as he opened the gate to let Rico in. ‘You’re running a bit late. All the others have gone in to lunch.’

  Rico’s heart sank, till he realised Jed couldn’t possibly know that for a fact from where he was stationed. Ward’s stable complex was shaped in a square with an internal courtyard. Each side of the square housed six stalls along with feed and tack rooms at the ends of the rows, with staff quarters on the floor above.

  Whilst Jed could peer through the gap at the nearest corner into the courtyard beyond, he couldn’t possibly see inside the stalls, which was where Renée always ventured. It was never enough for her to stroke her horses’ heads over the stall doors. If the horse was docile enough, she would be right in there, up close and personal.

  ‘No worries, Jed,’ Rico replied as he walked on in. ‘I haven’t come to eat today. See you.’

  The courtyard was deserted except for one stable-hand, who was hosing away the last of the horsy deposits from the pavings, legacies of their having been walked around on show for their owners.

  ‘Working hard there, Neil, I see,’ Rico said as he approached.

  The young lad glanced up with surprise and pleasure on his face.

  ‘Why, hello there, Mr Mandretti,’ Neil replied, swiftly turning off the hose so that their esteemed visitor could pass by without getting anything splattered on his very smart and expensive-looking black clothes. If there was one own
er Neil liked almost as much as he liked Mrs Selinsky, it was Mr Mandretti. For one thing, he always remembered his name, not like a lot of the hoi polloi. You’d never know he was a famous TV star by the way he acted. He was so nice and friendly. Of course, no one was as nice as Mrs Selinsky. Now there was one genuine lady. Generous, too. Every time one of her horses won any prize money, she gave all the grooms a bonus.

  But it wasn’t just her handing out cash which made everyone here warm to her. It was the way she was with the horses. She really cared about them. Even the boss liked Mrs Selinsky. You could tell because he actually talked to her. And the boss was not one for idle chit-chat.

  ‘You’ll be here to see your colt, I suppose,’ Neil said. ‘Mrs Selinsky’s still in there with him. I think she’d sleep in that stall if the boss’d let her.’

  Rico decided then and there that if there was such a thing as reincarnation he wanted to come back as one of Renée’s racehorses.

  ‘What stall is Blackie in?’ Rico asked. Blackie was Ebony Fire’s stable name.

  ‘Number eighteen. The last on that row over there. I know it’s not for me to say, but if he runs as good as he looks this time in, you’ll have a class-one winner there for sure.’

  ‘Let’s hope so, Neil. But there’s many a slip twixt the training track and the winner’s circle.’

  ‘Aye. That there is. But then that’s the way of the racin’ game, isn’t it? It’s all a gamble. A bit like life.’

  Rico nodded. Neil was right. Life was a gamble. Sometimes you won and sometimes you lost. Knowledge, however, increased your odds of winning. Suddenly, he wished he knew a lot more about Mrs Renée Selinsky. But it was too late to worry about that now. The time had come to take his chances. To gamble on winning the Maiden Stakes. Trouble was, he was a long shot and long shots didn’t win too often.

  Despite his growing inner tension, he waved a jaunty goodbye to Neil before making his way straight for stall number eighteen.

  Several of the horses whose heads were hanging over the doors whinnied to him as he strode past. Ebony Fire, however, was not one of them. At first glance, stall number eighteen seemed empty. But, once Rico’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside, he saw that the black colt was standing on a thick bed of straw in the far corner, having his flank stroked and being talked as if he were a much loved child.

  ‘You are such a beautiful boy,’ Renée crooned as her right hand continued its rhythmic petting. Her left arm was curled round the horse’s neck, with the side of her head resting against his glossy black mane. ‘Ward says there’s no sign of that shin soreness coming back and you’ll be ready for your first race soon. And he says you’ll win. I did tell him that you might be a little nervous to begin with and we shouldn’t expect too much too soon, but he said you didn’t have a nervous bone in your body. He said you were a born racehorse. A potential champion. Oh, I do so wish you were all mine, my darling. But I suppose one third of you is better than nothing.’

  Rico didn’t know whether he felt jealous of the horse on the receiving end of Renée’s caresses. Or of Ward Jackman. It sounded as if the man said one hell of a lot more to Renée than he did to him, or anyone else for that matter. Could it be that Renée’s relationship with Jackman extended beyond trainer and owner?

  Suddenly, Renée’s BMW being parked right outside Ward’s front gate took on a different and more ominous meaning. Maybe she hadn’t arrived first today. Maybe her car had been there all night…

  Rico swallowed the bile which leap into his throat and tried to look at this appalling idea more rationally and without panic. There’d never been a hint of intimacy shown between them that he’d noticed. No telling glances, or untoward touching.

  But their being lovers would certainly explain the uncharacteristic amount of chit-chat which obviously had been going on between them about Ebony Fire. Even the most taciturn men were prone to pillow talk.

  The thought of Renée sleeping with the ruggedly handsome horse trainer stabbed deep into Rico’s heart. His fists curled over by his side, his nails digging into his palms. Theoretical lovers were a whole different ball game to an in-your-face, flesh-and-blood one. If what Rico suspected was true, then it was no wonder she never brought a boyfriend to the races. He was already there!

  He stared at the way she was cuddling and petting the horse, but his brain didn’t see Ebony Fire as the recipient of her caresses any longer. His mind’s eye was picturing Ward Jackman, naked and aroused, beneath her hands.

  A violent shudder ran down Rico’s spine.

  The colt suddenly swung his head Rico’s way as he spotted him standing there at the stable door and neighed a welcome to his new visitor. Renée whirled, her eyes widening when she saw who that new visitor was.

  For a few moments her usual composure seemed to desert her, her body language showing agitation as she hurried over to the stable door, the horse hot on her heels.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she snapped as she wrenched open the bottom half of the stable door and slipped out of the stall, quickly closing the door behind her before the colt could follow. ‘Don’t you usually go home to the family on the first Sunday of the month?’

  The way she said the word, ‘family’, suggested he was a member of the Mafia, rather than the son of an honest, hard-working market gardener.

  ‘And hello to you too,’ Rico returned, impressed at how cool he sounded in the face of the jealousy and fury raging inside him. ‘The thing is, my dear Renée, I just couldn’t go another day without a dose of your charming company,’ he added in a mocking tone which masked the truth behind his words.

  She totally ignored him as she concentrated on shoving the bolt home on the door before finally raising cool green eyes to his. ‘In that case, why weren’t you at the races yesterday?’

  Rico smiled. ‘Aah, so you noticed I wasn’t there. I’m flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be. I had a very pleasant afternoon. I picked several winners as well.’

  ‘In that case, why are you so sour today? Or is that always your disposition around me?’

  Rico could feel his tongue running away with him, along with any hope he had of Renée ever accepting an invitation to go out on a date.

  Not that he was going to ask her now. Not until he discovered what was going on between her and Jackman. No man liked to make a total fool of himself, not even when that man was as desperate as he was.

  His gaze swept over the object of that desperation, trying not to ogle the way the tight camel-coloured trousers she was wearing hugged every inch of her long, slender legs. Her neat white T-shirt was equally snug-fitting and showed more bust than he realised she had. Either that, or she was wearing a padded bra.

  No, no padding, he realised on a second glance. Damn, no bra at all! Her nipples were starkly outlined against the thin white cotton, as long and hard as bullets.

  Maybe their erect state was due to her being cold—the day still hadn’t warmed up much. Or maybe their condition was the result of her having spent all night in Jackman’s bed.

  His stomach crunched down hard at the image of the other man sucking on Renée’s nipples. He could not bear it. He should leave. Right now, before he did or said something he would really regret.

  But he couldn’t.

  ‘Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?’ he grated out, struggling not to sound the way he was feeling.

  ‘Would it stop you if I did?’ she flung back at him.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I didn’t think so.’

  ‘Are you and Ward lovers?’ he demanded to know, his eyes glued to hers.

  There was no doubt her face registered shock, her finely arched brows arching even further over rapidly blinking eyes, her red-glossed mouth dropping slightly open.

  Her recovery was swift, however, with her face resuming its characteristically self-contained, slightly superior expression. Ignoring him again for a few moments, she bent to pick up the black leather jacket and m
atching bag which he hadn’t noticed sitting on the ground next to the stable wall. The movement swung her smooth curtain of thick, shoulder-length brown hair across her high cheekbones, momentarily hiding her face from him. When she straightened it fell back into perfect place, a testament to the expertise of her hairdresser. Tilting up her chin slightly, she fixed her slanting green eyes on his own eyes, her gaze cool and steady.

  ‘Why do you ask? Has someone said something about us?’

  ‘No. But I heard you talking to Blackie here just now and it sounded like you were pretty chummy with Ward. Let’s face it, it’s hard to get two words out of that man at the best of times, but he seems to have told you plenty about the horse’s progress.’

  ‘So you jumped to the conclusion that he told me in bed.’

  ‘Well, did he?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she said quite coldly, and turned back to start stroking Blackie’s head once more.

  ‘I’m making it my business,’ he bit out.

  ‘Why?’ she said indifferently, not even bothering to glance his way. ‘What’s it to you who I sleep with?’

  ‘I don’t like you sleeping with Jackman,’ he ground out.

  Now she did stop stroking the horse to look at him, her expression curious. ‘But why?’

  What could he say? I don’t like you sleeping with any man. I want you in my bed and my bed only.

  She would laugh in his face.

  His pride simply could not stand that degree of humiliation.

  ‘He’s the syndicate’s trainer,’ he snapped instead. ‘I don’t like the idea of you getting inside information which should be shared with all the partners.’

  She gave a small, dry laugh. ‘Typical. I should have known the reason would be something like that. For your information, I’m not sleeping with Ward. If you had any brains at all, or any powers of observation, you’d know that he and Lisa are madly in love. She’s even moved in with him. The only reason Ward talks to me more than you is because he knows I genuinely love my horses. I’m not just in racing for the status, or the socialising. Satisfied now?’