The Secret Mistress Arrangement. Kimberly Lang

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      It was a ridiculous question, as there was no place else for him to wait. While the entry was street level, her apartment was on the second floor of the brownstone. Short of having him sit on the steps, she had to invite him up.

      At his nod, she led him up the stairs, belatedly realizing that the shortness of her robe was most likely offering him an unobstructed view of her bottom. She could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. Probably both sets were blushing. Inwardly she groaned. This evening was already off to a bad start.

      “Would you like a glass of wine or something?” He declined, so she continued. “Sorry the place is such a wreck. Between the wedding and the packing, everything is upside down. Try to make yourself comfortable, if you can, and I’ll be ready in a minute.” She offered him a half smile and disappeared through one of the doors leading off the living room, leaving it slightly ajar.

      Matt tried to compose himself. He’d been knocked off guard when she’d opened the door, and was still recovering from the sight of Ella in that robe. The thin fabric had outlined every curve, clinging to the swell of her breasts. The tightly cinched belt emphasized her tiny waist and the flare of her hips. His eyes had avidly traveled down to the hem that skimmed the top of the most amazing legs he’d ever seen. Firm thighs, muscular calves and ridiculously trim ankles had him thinking that perhaps he was a Leg Man after all. But he changed his mind when she led him up the stairs and he’d been treated to a view of a beautifully shaped derrière clothed only in a thong. He’d been very glad when she left the room, giving him a chance to regain a sense of composure before he made an complete fool of himself.

      He still wasn’t completely sure what he was even doing at Ella’s apartment. The invitation to take her to dinner had popped out of his mouth just seconds after it had popped into his head. It seemed perfectly natural at the time: dance with the pretty woman, flirt with the pretty woman, ask the pretty woman to dinner. He’d been as surprised by her answer as she’d been at his question. But he had to admit Ella intrigued him. From drill sergeant to blushing bridesmaid to half-naked temptress, she was quite the puzzle.

      A puzzle with one hell of a nice behind, though.

      Drawing a deep breath, he looked around the room, trying to pry his mind away from the image of a half-naked Ella in the next room. Empty boxes were piled in every corner, while full boxes marked with either an E or an M were neatly stacked against the far wall. Ella hadn’t been kidding when she called the place a wreck.

      “Are you both moving out?” he called into the next room.

      “Yeah, it’s crazy, isn’t it? With the wedding and everything, we’re a bit behind on the packing. It’s frustrating, but now that the wedding’s done, I should be able to get something accomplished.” She laughed. “I’d better, because the moving truck will be here on Friday.”

      “Where are you moving to?” He could hear her in her bedroom—shuffling noises mostly, with the occasional muttered curse as she either dropped or tripped over something.

      “Sweet home Alabama. Specifically, Fort Morgan, where I grew up. It’s down on the Gulf Coast, about three hours east of New Orleans.”

      “So you are a Southern girl. I knew I heard a drawl.”

      “I know. Even after ten years, people know I’m not from around here the second I open my mouth. It catches them off guard, and it’s kinda funny to see them react.”

      He heard a muffled thump, followed by another string of muttering. “Take your time. There’s no hurry. Why are you going back to Alabama?”

      “I’ve accepted a job with a company in Pensacola, actually, and it’s just across the state line. It’s an easy commute, and I can still live on the beach.”

      Unable to sit calmly, thanks to a raging erection, he wandered around the room, taking in the framed prints and canvases on the walls, hoping to distract himself. Ella, or maybe it was Melanie, had good taste in art. Nothing so mainstream as to be a cliché, but nothing too out there, either. Everything was edgy enough to be interesting, and the pieces made a tasteful and eye-catching collection.

      Leaning against the wall, obviously demoted from wall space, based on the dust on their glass, were Melanie’s and Ella’s college degrees. Curious, he pulled Ella’s out for a look.

      There was a BS from Northwestern, and a master’s from the University of Chicago, both in computer science and both awarded to Ella Augustine Mackenzie. Augustine? Heck of a name to be saddled with.

      Computer science. That seemed a bit odd, because Ella didn’t really strike him as a computer geek. He looked around for evidence to the contrary. A table in the corner held a laptop, but it looked like any other laptop—nothing fancy or complicated. People who spent that amount of time in college studying CS didn’t flip burgers, that’s for sure, but Ella just didn’t fit the usual mental picture.

      Drill sergeant, wedding planner and now computer geek. Ella was full of surprises.

      Chuckling as another loud thump—followed by a muffled curse this time—echoed from the next room, Matt wandered over to the bookshelf where Mel and Ella had a collection of framed pictures. There were snapshots of Brian and Mel on the beach somewhere, as well as a more formal pose he recognized as their engagement photo. There were many pictures of college-age Mel and Ella—group shots at parties, one of the two of them in front of a Christmas tree and another of them dressed to go to some kind of formal dance. He found family pictures of Mel and her brothers and parents. Ella was in most of the casual shots of Christmas and birthdays. He finally noticed a picture of a teenage Ella, braces and all, posed with an older couple to whom she bore a slight resemblance.

      “Those are my grandparents.”

      Matt jumped as she spoke from directly behind him. He turned and lost the ability to speak. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard at the sight. The robe was gone, replaced by a dark-blue dress that skimmed over the curves of her body. Her shoulders and neck were bare, but she carried a sparkly wrap in one hand. The short dress and high heels only accentuated the incredible legs he’d seen earlier. All those remarkably erotic thoughts he had worked to cast out of his head returned full force.

      Ella seemed completely unaware of his reaction to her as she leaned in to take the photo he still held in his hand. As she moved close to him, he caught a whiff of the perfume she wore—a light, but slightly musky, scent—and the erection he had only recently gotten under control began to stir to life again.

      “I was sixteen when that picture was taken. My really bad hair aside, it’s one of my favorite photos of us.”

      Matt struggled for something intelligent he could say as he tried to get the blood flowing back to his other head. He settled for, “Do they still live in Alabama?”

      “No.” Ella shook her head. “Gran died when I was in high school, and Gramps passed about five years ago.” She smiled at the people in the picture fondly.

      “And your parents? Are they still down there?”

      “My parents both died when I was very young. My grandparents raised me.” She didn’t sound sad, only resigned, like someone who’d come to terms with the loss long ago.

      Belatedly he remembered Melanie mentioning that to him before. Unable to think of anything less lame to say, he settled on, “I’m sorry.”

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