The Once-a-Mistress Wife. Katherine Garbera

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СКАЧАТЬ shook her head. “Not today. I’m meeting with Grandfather’s lawyer at ten. Then I’m interviewing financial planners to find someone to help me establish my trust.”

      “Who are you meeting with?”

      “Someone from Merrill Lynch and someone from A.G. Edwards. I got their names from the phone book,” she said. Truth was, she wasn’t good with money and she didn’t have any idea how to make her dream into reality.

      “Would you consider letting me help you?”

      Kane was brilliant with investments. He’d carefully invested the money he’d given her during their years together and turned it into a small fortune. She had used that money to support herself before returning to Eastwick. “Do you want to?”

      “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” he said with a hint of a grin.

      Her question had been inane. “You make it hard for me to think clearly.”

      “That’s good to know.”

      He stood, offering her his hand and tugging her to her feet. He linked their hands together and started leading her away from the shore, toward her home.

      “Will you have breakfast with me?” he asked.

      His thumb rubbed over the back of her knuckles, and tingles spread up her arm. Her nipples tightened in response to his touch and his mere proximity. She always reacted this way in his presence. If she had breakfast with him, she’d probably end up making love with him. “No.”

      “Why not?” he asked, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it.

      She pulled her hand from his grasp. “I’m not getting involved with you again, Kane. Maybe you shouldn’t help me with my inheritance.”

      “Why not? I’m probably more qualified than some stranger you rang up on the telephone.”

      “I think working with you will complicate things.”

      “Things? I’m not sure I understand.”

      She wanted to punch him in the arm. He frustrated her sometimes and she knew he was doing it deliberately right now. She took a deep breath, remembered that she always had to appear composed.

      “I really don’t want to give Channing or Lorette a reason to take me to court.”

      He took her shoulder, pulling her toward his body, wrapping one arm around her waist. He tipped her head back with his other hand, forcing her to look up at him. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m back in your life, and we’ll take it slowly if that’s what you want, but there is no way I’m leaving you again.”

      “Kane…don’t say things like that to me.”

      “I mean them.”

      She couldn’t reconcile what he was saying to what he’d said when they’d parted. His words still lingered in her mind, the emotional wounds he’d inflicted only half-healed.

      “No, you don’t. You told me that I was never anything more to you than a mistress, and I believed you. We don’t have a great love affair to rekindle. Ours was a business-minded relationship. You paid for my living expenses and I took care of your sexual needs. That was it.”

      He cursed under his breath but didn’t let go of her. “It was never a business arrangement. Passion like ours can’t be contained in something so tame.”

      Passion…one of her downfalls, if her grandfather was to be believed. Passion had a place only at her easel, where she channeled all of her rebelliousness into her art.

      “Passion isn’t part of my life now, Kane. You’d do well to remember that. I’m not the woman you knew. I’ve changed and I can’t go back.”

      “How many times am I going to have to pay for making you my mistress?” he asked, his accent more clipped than normal. He sounded every inch the aristocrat when he talked that way.

      “It’s not about making you pay. Please, Kane, you have to leave. Go back home and forget about me.”

      “You may have changed, but I haven’t. I’m still a very determined man. And you know I always get what I want.”

      “Do you have any idea how arrogant you sound?”

      “Yes.”

      That startled a laugh out of her. Kane was still a mix of contradictions. A perfect gentleman in public and a total hedonist in private. She was so tempted to wrap herself around him and let him take her back to those carefree days in London. But she knew that she couldn’t.

      Something her grandfather had said when she’d returned to Eastwick forbade that. He’d said it was time to grow up and stop running from her responsibilities. He’d reminded her she was the last Duvall. The only one to carry the mantle of her family’s legacy.

      “Arrogance isn’t going to help you this time,” she said, walking away from Kane.

      “Yes, it is. You need me to set up this foundation of yours. It’s the least I can do for an old friend.”

      Friend. She didn’t know that they’d ever been friends. Friends shared things that she and Kane never had. They’d both played roles and lived in a world of their own making.

      “Are you going to deny we were friends?” She heard the challenge in his voice.

      “I’m not sure. But I will accept your offer of help. I know you’re good with investments and I need someone I can trust.”

      Mary had a pounding headache after spending three hours in a conference room with her grandfather’s attorney, Max Previn, and Channing. Max was a kind, older gentleman who had tried to smooth over the animosity that Channing had brought into the room, but it had been next to impossible.

      She’d explained her plans for her inheritance to the lawyer and he’d approved, with the caveat that she remember the stipulations of the will. If at any time she did anything scandalous, the money would be forfeit and she’d have to repay any amount she’d already spent. She’d put the stipulations from her mind long enough to finish the meeting and leave the office.

      Mary’s car—a late-model Mercedes sedan—was parked at the curb, and she looked at that car feeling a new loathing for this life she’d been forced into. A part of her—the wild, crazy part—wanted to say the hell with it and walk away. She resented the restrictions and the instructions on how to behave that were being dictated from the grave.

      But another bigger part of her mourned the baby she’d lost in childbirth, and she wanted to do what she could to ensure that no other woman ever had to live with that crushing feeling.

      With her thoughts in such turmoil she couldn’t get in the car and go home yet. Instead, she walked along the sidewalk in front of a row of shops until she reached her friend Emma’s art gallery. Through the front window Mary could see Emma was with a customer, so she stayed outside. Featured in the display window was her latest print series—Paris. The series was composed of four different pieces that she’d simply titled for each of the seasons.

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