Mistress for a Month Page 4

  When she went to move away, he grabbed her arm. She stiffened and shot him a look which would have shriveled a lesser man. Rico’s fingers tightened.

  ‘Why do you dislike me so much?’ he demanded to know. ‘What have I ever done to you?’

  She stared down at the hand circled on her arm till he let her go, at which point she actually shuddered.

  Rico knew then that she would never go out with him, let alone go to bed with him. Not willingly. He repelled her for some reason.

  It was the most appalling realisation of his life, worse than discovering Jasmine was a gold-digger. Much worse than anything he could imagine.

  Now he was the one who shuddered. But not visibly. Inside. Deep, deep inside.

  ‘You don’t want me to answer those questions,’ she replied tartly. ‘Trust me on that.’

  ‘But I do,’ he ground out. ‘Trust me on that.’

  Her green eyes frosted over further, if that was possible. ‘Very well. I’ll tell you. The reason I dislike you so much is because you represent everything I despise in the male sex. You’re selfish and self-centred and appallingly shallow. You say you want substance in your life but you continually choose shadows. You also make snap judgements about people without ever looking beneath the surface. When I think of how you nearly ruined Charles’s marriage…’

  Her top lip curled up in contempt and Rico cringed. OK, so he’d made a terrible mistake in accusing Dominique of being the same kind of heartless gold-digger Jasmine had been. But the evidence had seemed damning at the time.

  ‘All because you couldn’t see past your own pathetic marital experience,’ Renée continued caustically. ‘Like I said, selfish and shallow. Of course, most really good-looking men are tarred with the same brush. You imagine that you’re so irresistible, just because you were born with a great body and loads of sex appeal. You think I don’t know that your arrogant Italian nose is put out of joint because I don’t swoon every time you come into the room? Or that you’re seriously irritated by the fact I can play poker better than you can? I might have more respect for you, Rico Mandretti, if just once you behaved with some depth and sensitivity. But no, you just keep on keeping on in your usual superficial playboy fashion, acting like a spoiled brat when you don’t get your way!’

  By now her voice had risen slightly and Rico cast a desperate glance around, relieved to see that Neil had finished his hosing down and was nowhere in sight.

  ‘But most pathetic of all,’ Renée swept on, regardless, ‘is the way you go from one blonde bimbo to the next, then bemoan the fact you haven’t got what Charles has got. Grow up, Rico. Get a life, and a nice girl for a wife. Have that family you claim you want. Then maybe I might grow to like you. No, maybe not,’ she added scornfully. ‘Liking you is something I’ll never do. But at least I’d have some respect for you.’

  At last, her tirade was finished. And so was Rico.

  He had never been on the end of such a brutal character assassination in all his life. Not even Jasmine at her most venomous had managed to make him feel so utterly worthless.

  He could have lashed back, he supposed. Could have torn strips off Renée’s own less than perfect past. But somehow, he had a feeling that might back-fire on him as well. Though goodness knew how. No one would ever convince him she’d married that old geezer for love. Still, possibly money hadn’t been her motive. Maybe his believing her a gold-digger was one of those snap judgements she’d referred to.

  ‘I did warn you,’ she stated brusquely when he just stood there, silent and shattered. ‘Don’t make me feel guilty for speaking the truth. Don’t you dare! It’s not as though you give a damn what I think, anyway. Men like you don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves.’

  And with an angry toss of her hair she pushed past him and stalked off.

  Well at least she thinks I’m good-looking, Rico thought bitterly as he watched her go. Clearly, she’s repelled more by my characterless character than my great body or my arrogant Italian nose. That was something, wasn’t it?

  ‘Yeah, right, Rico,’ he muttered bleakly and, sliding his hands deeply back into his trouser pockets, he trudged back across the still blessedly deserted courtyard, murmured a desolate goodbye to Jed at the gate then headed wearily for his car, and home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHARLES glanced across the card table at an unusually quiet Renée, then sidewards at a very grim-faced Rico, and wondered what on earth had happened between those two during the past week. They’d been in good form last Friday night, hitting off each other with their usual savage but highly entertaining wit.

  But tonight was a different story entirely. Tonight they were both tight-lipped and tight-fisted. The pots so far had been small, the betting abysmal. Neither Rico nor Renée seemed interested in trying to out-bluff each other the way they usually did. Rico was particularly dull. Even when he had a fairly good hand, he didn’t raise the stakes to his usual daring degree.

  All in all, it was turning out to be one of the most boring poker nights Charles had ever sat through. He would much rather have stayed home with Dominique. Frankly, he couldn’t wait for the evening to end. Yet it was only ten-twenty. At least they’d be stopping soon for supper.

  ‘It’s your turn to deal, Charles,’ Ali reminded him. ‘We’ll make this the last hand before supper.’

  ‘Good,’ Charles said.

  Rico agreed. All he wanted to do was finish this torture and get out of here. With a weary-sounding sigh, he started picking up the five cards Charles had dealt to him. The first was the queen of hearts. The second, the jack of hearts. When the third turned out to be the king of hearts, his own heart gave a little flutter. When the fourth proved to be the ace of hearts, his heart ceased to beat altogether.

  Holy hell!

  At that point, mathematical probability told Rico all he could seriously hope his last card to be was one more heart of any kind, giving him a flush. Or possibly a ten—again of any suit—completing a straight. To think that it could possibly be the ten of hearts, completing a royal flush, was a million-to-one chance. He’d heard of it happening but never seen it, let alone experienced it personally.

  His fingertips clipped the edge of the table as he went to pick up his last card. Renée’s eyes immediately flicked his way. Before Rico could think better of it, his head turned and their gazes connected.

  It was the first time he’d looked straight at her all night, other than when she’d first walked into the presidential suite right on eight o’clock, looking elegantly sexy in cream woollen trousers and a pale green twin set.

  He had been thinking about her constantly since last Sunday’s fiasco, wondering what to do about his escalating frustration. And he’d come here tonight, still not sure what action to take. His body’s immediate and involuntary response to just the sight of her had swiftly made up his mind.

  This was going to be his last night playing poker with the merry widow. Charles and Ali would have to find someone else. He would opt out of the racing syndicate as well. On top of that, he aimed to leave Sydney and go overseas for a while. He’d been offered the opportunity to take his show on the road to Italy. He intended to do just that. He had to get right away from this scene before he self-destructed.

  His decisions, though sensible, had depressed him, and the evening’s card-playing so far had passed in a fog. But the four cards he now held in his hand could not help but set the adrenaline flowing in any poker player.

  This time, when he looked at Renée, his excitement was not of the sexual kind.

  Her smile, when it came, startled him. Was it an apology? A peace offering?

  No, he swiftly realised. It was far too wry, and knowing. Clearly, she had sensed his sudden tension, and was waiting to see his reaction to his last card. Rico noted that she was already holding all five of her cards, so she knew the state of her own hand.

  How cold-blooded, and clever she was!

  His eyes dropped away from hers, but he fe
lt her watch him closely as he picked up his fifth and last card.

  Did he manage to hide his reaction? He believed so, but every internal muscle he owned stiffened with the effort of keeping his hands still and his expression poker-faced. After all, how often did you pick up the one card which gave you not just a great hand, but also an unbeatable one?

  Unbeatable!

  His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he battled to remain outwardly composed. Blood pounded through his temples. His mouth went dry.

  ‘How many cards do you want, Rico?’ Charles asked him somewhat impatiently.

  Quite deliberately, he hesitated, before relaxing back into his chair and adopting an attitude of overconfidence. This was not how he usually acted when he had a really good hand. His aim in adopting such a manner was to confuse his opposition, to convince the others he was bluffing, otherwise they would all fold and he wouldn’t win a single cent.

  And what a criminal waste that would be!

  ‘I think I’ll sit on what I’ve got,’ he said, tone smug, mouth twitching at the corner.

  Ali frowned over at him, dark eyes puzzled. Rico smiled back at him, thinking that he would enjoy taking a few thousand of Ali’s oil-rich millions off him. The trouble was Ali was no fool. He rarely lost much at the card table. Would he smell a rat and fold, regardless?

  ‘So Enrico is alive tonight after all,’ Ali murmured, and discarded three cards. Charles dealt him three more. Unfortunately, Ali didn’t look thrilled with what he picked up, which meant he probably wasn’t going to take part in the betting, no matter what he thought Rico was up to. Ali wouldn’t have shown his disgust if he’d been planning on bluffing.

  Now it was Renée’s turn. ‘I’ll sit too,’ she said in that soft, silky voice which Rico found impossible to read. Sometimes she was bluffing. At other times, she held a full house, or at least three of a kind.

  No matter this time. Whatever she had, she could not possibly win. Rico’s body fizzed with elation as he looked over at her.

  I’m going to go out a winner here tonight, madam, Rico thought with a savagery born of a severely bruised male pride. I hope you’ve got a full house. Or even four of a kind. Either that, or I hope you think I’m bluffing and you bet every cent you’ve got.

  ‘I’m taking two,’ Charles said, which suggested he could be holding three of a kind. But possibly not. Charles often sat on a pair and a high card. He seemed pleased with what he drew. But that could mean anything. Charles was a very sneaky poker player when he was on his game.

  Rico was right about Ali. He dropped out of the hand straight away. Renée stayed in, continually raising the stakes. Rico did the same. Charles folded when the pot reached the six-figure mark.

  ‘This is too hot for me,’ he said as he closed his hand and placed it face down on the table. ‘You two can fight it out.’

  ‘I think Rico should save his money and fold now too,’ Renée advised coolly. ‘Unless, of course, he enjoys losing. I suspect he must, the way he’s been playing tonight.’

  It was the wrong thing to say, especially with Rico holding the cards he was holding, and feeling the feelings he’d been feeling all week.

  Suddenly, his winning Renée’s money wasn’t enough. He wanted to strike at her pride, as she had shattered his last Sunday.

  The sheer wickedness of the wager which sprang into his mind sent his heartbeat into overdrive. If Renée wasn’t bluffing—and he suspected she wasn’t—she would not be able to resist his proposal.

  And then she was would be his. His, where he’d always wanted her. In his bed.

  Just the thought of it gave him an instant erection.

  ‘If you’re so confident,’ he said smoothly despite the dark excitement racing through his veins, ‘how about we raise the stakes?’

  ‘You mean increase the maximum bet?’ she returned, her finely plucked brows drawing together in a frown.

  ‘No. I was thinking we could wager for something other than money.’

  Her head jerked back, long eyelashes blinking rapidly. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Yes, like what?’ Charles piped up.

  ‘Whatever we fancy. Renée can choose something she wants which I can give or buy her. And vice versa. Anything at all.’

  Her eyes flashed scornfully. ‘I can’t think of anything you could give me that I couldn’t buy for myself.’

  ‘Can’t you? I got the impression at the open day last Sunday that that wasn’t the case…’

  He locked eyes with hers and saw the penny drop. His share of Ebony Fire. She wanted that all right. He could guess what was going on in her devious mind. If she won his third, it would be relatively easy to buy out Charles’ share. He was already losing interest in the syndicate. Then she would have her dearest wish. To own all of her precious colt.

  Rico knew Renée would not be able to resist the temptation. She would agree to the bet and fall right into his trap.

  ‘I’m not so sure about this,’ Charles said, ever the gentleman. ‘It doesn’t sound right.’

  ‘Mind your own business, Charles,’ Renée snapped, showing Rico that she was already on the slippery slide to hell. ‘This is between Rico and myself. So how do you suggest we go about this?’

  ‘We write our heart’s desire down on separate pieces of paper,’ Rico suggested. ‘Then we put each in its own envelope and place them both next to the pot. We then show our cards at the same time and the winner takes the pot. The loser is then handed the winner’s envelope and has to deliver whatever the winner wants.’

  ‘So we don’t have to say up front what we’re actually betting for,’ Renée said, her expression thoughtful. ‘It’s a secret.’

  ‘Yes. It’s more exciting that way, don’t you think?’

  ‘What happens to the loser’s envelope?’ she asked him, green eyes narrowed.

  ‘She—or he—can take it back, if they like, sight unseen by the other.’

  Her frown deepened. ‘I just can’t imagine what you could possibly want from me.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the same thing you want from me.’

  She stared hard at him. ‘Maybe,’ she said at last. ‘But somehow, I doubt it. Still, it might be…interesting…to find out.’

  ‘Provided I win, of course,’ Rico added, pretending that the result wasn’t a foregone conclusion. ‘If I don’t, I’ll certainly be taking my envelope back.’

  Her eyes shot him a look which he would have given anything to read. But that had always been her skill, hiding the truth from him when she wanted to. That was why he never knew when she was bluffing or not.

  ‘Let’s get the paper and envelopes, then,’ she said crisply.

  ‘I’m still not sure I like this idea at all,’ Charles grumbled.

  ‘Why not?’ Rico returned with a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘What’s the harm? It’s just a bit of fun.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Charles said grudgingly. ‘By the look of you tonight, you certainly could do with some lightening up.’

  ‘But we won’t make a habit of this kind of wager,’ Ali inserted with his usual authority, never liking things to become personal at his card table. ‘This is a one-off. James,’ he called to the butler who was at that moment preparing supper over in the adjoining sitting room. ‘Bring Mr Mandretti a notepad, two pens and two envelopes.’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ the butler replied and walked over to the writing desk in the corner of the sitting room, where he gathered the required objects and delivered them with his usual aplomb.

  Rico ripped off the top page of the hotel notepad and handed the rest of the pad to Renée, along with a Biro and an envelope. She wrote quickly, clearly knowing exactly what she wanted to ask for. Rico, however, found himself suddenly in a quandary. How much to ask for? One night with her? Two? Or every night for a week?

  Not enough, he decided darkly as his flesh grew even harder. Not nearly enough. So he put his pen to paper and wrote.

  ‘You are now my mistress for a month,
starting tonight.’

  His hands trembled slightly as he folded the sheet of paper and shoved it into the remaining envelope. On the outside he scrawled his name, then tossed it on top of Renée’s envelope.

  Yes, on top, he thought with another overwhelming rush of desire. That was where he was going to be every night for the next month. On top of Renée. Except when he ordered her to take that position herself. Mistresses could be ordered into whatever position or activity which took their lover’s fancy. That was their role in life, wasn’t it, to keep the men who kept them sexually satisfied, to accede to their every demand?

  Of course, Rico understood he would have to pay for the privilege. Mistresses did not come much cheaper than gold-digging wives. But it would give him great pleasure to spend money on Renée. To shower her with jewels and dress her in designer clothes. She wore trousers far too often for his liking, despite the fact they suited her tall, willowy figure, and made her lovely long legs look even longer.

  Still, he wanted to see what she looked like in soft, floaty dresses and low-cut evening gowns and black satin nighties with tiny straps which yielded to a mere flick of a finger. He also wanted to see what she looked like wearing nothing at all except that subtly musky perfume which sometimes drove him mad. But most of all he wanted to see what she looked like when she came.

  That would be the ultimate triumph, and the best salve for his male pride, to make her lose control, to watch her mouth fall open as he listened to her moans of unexpected ecstasy.

  Rico knew that if there was one talent he had, and which had not been God-given, it was his skill in the bedroom. Admittedly, those naturally born good looks which Renée had scorned last Sunday had made it easy for him to get women into his bed. Frankly, the opposite sex had been coming on to him in droves since he was fourteen.

  But, as was his nature, he hadn’t been content to just “Do it.” Rico never saw the point of doing anything unless he did it to the best of his ability. So he’d made a point of learning everything which could be learned about giving and receiving sexual pleasure. He’d set out to discover what women really wanted in the lovemaking department. Gradually, he’d uncovered their secret desires and acted upon them, with great success. Jasmine might have married him mainly for his money, but she had certainly enjoyed herself in their marital bed.