No Mistress of Mine

Chapter 9

The moment his lips touched hers, pleasure pierced Lola like an arrow, pleasure so keen and so sharp that she cried out against his mouth.

He responded at once, his arms tightening around her as he pulled her even closer, and her mind tumbled back into the past, to summer afternoons in St. John’s Wood, to scents of bay rum and jasmine, to hot, frantic lovemaking and its languid, luscious aftermath, to a time and a place where sensation and bliss were the only things that mattered, where they had tried to burn away the social difference between a viscount and a cabaret dancer.

Denys, she thought, and the pleasure deepened and spread until it was in every part of her body, bringing a yearning she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Her lips parted, and he deepened the kiss, tasting her tongue with his own in a carnal caress that inflamed all her senses. Her handbag hit the floor with a thud, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He made a rough sound against her mouth, and his embrace loosened, but he did not push her away. Instead, his hands slid down, gliding along her ribs to her hips. His palms felt like fire, seeming to burn through all the layers of her clothing as he pulled her closer.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should stop this, for it could ruin everything she’d come here to do, but she feared it was already too late. The sandpapery texture of his cheek, the taste of his mouth, the hard feel of his body, were so achingly familiar, and when his grip tightened and he lifted her onto her toes, bringing her hips flush against his, she couldn’t summon the will to push him away.

She’d thought enough time had gone by. She’d thought both of them would be over this by now. Denys’s kiss, his caress, his lovemaking, those afternoons together—she’d worked so hard to make all of those things nothing but a distant memory. She thought she’d succeeded. Yet now, with his body against hers and arousal flooding through her, it was as if not a single day had passed.

Without warning, he broke the kiss. His hands tightened on her hips, then he shoved her away and took a long step back, his hands falling to his sides.

Lola stared at him, wordless, her senses reeling and her lips still burning. She ought, she supposed, to say something—something offhand so they could both get their bearings and pretend this hadn’t happened. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a thing. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and said nothing.

It was Denys’s voice that broke the silence. “God,” he said, his voice ragged, “if this doesn’t prove the point, nothing will.”

She frowned, striving to think. “What point?”

He took a deep breath and another step back, rubbing his hands over his face. “The one I’ve been trying to make since you arrived here.”

Those words hit her like a splash of ice water, snuffing out all the fire raging through her in an instant, leaving her as spitting mad as a wet cat. “You kissed me to prove a point?”

“No, I didn’t. Although it’s a damn fine way to make the case, and I wish I’d thought of it.” He glared at her, seeming as angry as she, though why he thought he had any grounds to be angry was beyond her. “But when you’re anywhere in the vicinity, my capacity to think, even of devious plots to drive you away, deserts me utterly.”

“So what just happened is my fault?” Lola glared back at him, outraged that he was painting her as some sort of wicked seductress. “Of course it is. I was standing here, after all, and a man can’t be expected to conduct himself in honorable fashion when a notorious dancer with a ruined reputation is standing in front of him. That’s too much to ask of any man, even a gentleman such as you.”

That shot hit the mark, she could tell, for a hint of what might have been regret crossed his face. But if she thought he’d offer an apology, she was mistaken. “As I said before, I didn’t do it to prove a point, but the point is made just the same. A partnership between us just can’t work.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no. If you think your conduct this morning—deliberate or not—will enable you to wriggle out of your obligations here, you are mistaken.”

“Obligations?”

Her anger hardened into resolve. “I’m calling a partners’ meeting. According to the Imperial’s bylaws, I have that right, and I’m exercising it. I will make the arrangements with your secretary.”

“Make whatever arrangements you like, but I have no intention of attending any such meeting.”

“Do as you please.” She bent and picked up her handbag from the floor. “If you are absent, I will make whatever business decisions I deem necessary. You will be apprised in the minutes of what I have decided. I think I shall begin by deciding next year’s playbill.”

“A pointless exercise. Without my consent, you can’t carry out such a decision, or any other, for that matter.”

“Neither can you.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “If you think you can stonewall me, Lola, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Call it what you will, but we are still equal partners—”

“Are we, indeed?” he cut in before she could finish. “In a legal sense, I suppose you’re right. But in a partnership of true equality, each partner brings something of benefit to the whole. What do you bring that I don’t already have?”

“Plenty. I have ideas—”

“Every actor worth his salt has ideas. Every actress has notions of how to play her part and what costume she wants to wear. But that doesn’t make her a valuable business partner. For that, Lola, you’re going to need more. Do you have connections I’ve no access to? Influence in London theater circles I don’t possess? Experience in production? Theater management? Do you have any business acumen at all? Hell, for all these ideas you claim to have, can you contribute even one idea that would increase the Imperial’s profits? Or,” he added, his dark eyes hard as granite, “is your greatest talent merely that of sleeping with the right man at the right time?”

“Oh,” she breathed, outraged. Clearly, he was attempting to intimidate her, but it was not going to work. “First of all,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’ve only slept with two men in my entire life, and one of them was you, so perhaps instead of pointing out my supposed deficiencies, you ought to take a good, hard look at your own. Hypocrisy being a prime example, as your lack of gentlemanly conduct has just demonstrated.”

She paused just long enough to suck in a breath before going on. “Second, as much as you deny it, the fact remains that legally, I am your full and equal partner, and though it’s obvious I can’t expect your trust or your forgiveness or your personal respect, I damn well expect you to accord me the consideration, equality, and respect my position demands. We make decisions together, Denys, or we don’t make them at all.”

She turned and walked out, and she took great satisfaction in slamming the door behind her. Not a very ladylike thing to do, of course, but then, she’d never been a lady anyway.

Denys stared at the closed door, resentment and arousal seething through him in equal measure. During the past half dozen years, he’d seldom had cause to feel both those emotions at the same time, but now that Lola was back in his life, he had the feeling this tumultuous state was one he would find himself in quite often.

Perhaps instead of pointing out my supposed deficiencies, you ought to take a hard look at your own.

He grimaced, painfully aware he was in no position to deny those words. Throwing an accusation of immoral conduct in her face had been hypocritical, not to mention unthinkably boorish, and she’d had every right to call him out for it.

I’ve only slept with two men in my entire life, and one of them was you.

He frowned, uneasiness supplanting his anger. The other man was Henry, of course, and yet, even as he thought it, he felt a stab of doubt. The idea of Lola as a virgin when they’d become lovers didn’t square with what he remembered. Granted, she’d had less experience than he would have expected from a girl of her profession, but he’d never have thought her a virgin. Which, if she’d been telling the truth just now, meant that she and Henry hadn’t been lovers, and that was ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

Denys muttered an oath. God, was he really trying to find a way to justify her actions and believe in her again?

He was. God help him, he was. And he knew why. Despite everything that had happened, and everything she’d done, he still wanted her, wanted her enough that he’d hauled her into his arms and kissed her without a thought of restraint, control, or consequences. Hell, in those few moments, he hadn’t been thinking at all.

He pressed his hands to his skull, grinding his teeth in frustration, wondering what on earth was wrong with him that he wasn’t over this by now. He wasn’t in love with her anymore, and he certainly didn’t trust her, but he wanted her as much as he ever had, and he didn’t know what he could do, short of hurling himself off a cliff, to stop wanting her. If a shredded bank account, a broken heart, and six years hadn’t cured him of this mad, insatiable passion for her, what would?

Feeling the need to move, Denys lowered his hands, circled his desk, and began to pace his office, but if he thought that would cool his blood and help him regain a semblance of sanity, he was mistaken. As he approached the window, he glanced down at the street below, just in time to see the object of all his tumultuous thoughts step out onto the sidewalk.

The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. As she paused at the corner for the traffic to clear, he told himself to look away. But though his mind gave the command, his traitorous body refused to comply. He didn’t move, and all the desire he kept trying to suppress flared up again, every bit as strong and hot as it had ever been.

Nothing’s changed, he thought darkly, his hand coming up as if to touch her, his fingertips pressing against the window glass as frustration and desire clawed at him. Eight and a half years since I first met her, and nothing’s changed.

She leaned out over the curb to look for a break in the traffic, a move that emphasized the lush curve of her hips, and Denys turned away from the window with an oath. To feel all this again after half a dozen years of peace and sanity was aggravating as hell. To know his control and his will could slip away any moment she was near him was just too galling to bear.

No man could be expected to endure this sort of situation. There had to be a way out of this, by God, and he was going to find it, for he had no intention of wrecking his life a second time because of her.

Lola strode away from Denys’s office mad as a hornet, so mad that she paid no attention to where she was going except that it was away from him. She couldn’t even remember now what reply she’d offered to his infuriating remark, but whatever she’d said didn’t matter, for no words would have been sufficient to express her fury. She ought to have hurled an inkstand at him instead.

Or is your true talent merely that of sleeping with the right man at the right time?

Of all the hypocritical, ruthless, downright unfair remarks—

But not wholly unwarranted.

She stopped on the sidewalk, so abruptly that she was nearly run down by the man walking behind her. He dodged, just managing to avoid a collision, and went around her, while she stood motionless on the sidewalk and faced the brutal fact that though Denys’s accusation wasn’t technically true, it was a reasonable conclusion. She had no right to be angry when what he thought of her was exactly what she’d led him to think.

Denys believed she had jilted him for Henry Latham, and a more lucrative career in New York had been part of the bargain. In choosing to come back, she’d expected his enmity, so why was she angry at him for expressing it?

Because she hadn’t realized how much it would hurt.

That was the real reason she was angry enough to spit nails. She was angry with herself. Hearing Denys say what he thought of her opened a wound inside, a wound she hadn’t been honest enough with herself to admit was even there.

She’d ceased to care a long time ago what people thought of her, but Denys was different. He had always been able to get under her skin and slip past her defenses like no one else could.

And that feeling seemed to be mutual, or he would not have kissed her. He’d done it intending to prove the untenable nature of their partnership, but it was only untenable if he still wanted her.

He resented her, he might even despise her, he certainly did not want to forgive her, and he hadn’t a shred of respect for her. But amid all that, the lust he’d once felt for her was still there.

That was a possibility she had refused to consider until now. During the weeks since Henry’s death, whenever the possibility that Denys might still want her passed through her mind, she’d dismissed it and chided herself for her conceit. On the voyage over, it was the one scenario she hadn’t rehearsed, the one contingency she had refused to plan for. Even last night, when Kitty had warned her, she’d managed to convince herself it was as likely as flying pigs. But now, her body still burning from his kiss, she no longer had the luxury of self-deceit. His desire for her was still there. And, as that kiss had so ruthlessly demonstrated, so was her desire for him.

Mortified, Lola groaned and buried her flushed face in her hands, heedless of the pedestrians streaming by. Her whole life, she’d lived by the knowledge that if anything was going to happen for her in this world, she’d have to make it happen. When Henry’s will had dropped this chance in her lap, she’d known it would be up to her to make it work, and she’d dared to think that was possible. She’d hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that she could wipe away the past and start again. That she could erase the girl who’d taken off her clothes for men in a Brooklyn saloon and the cabaret dancer who’d allowed herself to be kept by her aristocratic lover. She’d believed that she, who had perfected the art of using sexual allure to entertain, could become an actress and producer worthy of respect. And yet, she had just behaved like the wanton everyone, including Denys, believed her to be.

The moment he’d hauled her into his arms, she ought to have shoved him away, slapped him across the face, and told him to keep his hands to himself. He’d kissed her, he’d even manhandled her, and not only had she allowed it, she’d relished every second of it, and she hadn’t spared a thought for their partnership, her aspirations, and her future.

“Are you all right, miss?”

Lola lifted her head, turning to find a young man standing beside her, a young man in the pin-striped suit and ink-stained cuffs of a clerk, who was studying her with polite concern.

She pasted on a smile at once. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

He went on, and Lola took a deep, steadying breath, working to think with her head.

In choosing to come back here, she’d ignored some of the possible consequences, true, but even if she’d allowed herself to foresee today’s events, would she have chosen to stay in New York and let this opportunity slip through her fingers?

Not a chance.

She’d spent years shimmying around a stage showing off her body, but she wanted to show the world she really could act. She wanted the critics who had heaped scorn on her for her performance in A Doll’s House to eat the biting words they’d written about her afterward. She wanted respect, the professional respect garnered by the likes of Ellen Terry and Sarah Bernhardt, respect performers like her never got. And she wanted to learn the business side of things. She wanted to produce her own plays, see her ideas come to life in a way that was not only creatively satisfying but also profitable.

The Imperial was her chance to do all those things, and she wasn’t about to let one stupid kiss get in the way. She might have blindly refused to see this coming, but she’d always known this partnership wouldn’t be smooth sailing, so there was no point in crying at the first squall. What she and Denys had once had was over, and any lingering desires from their past could not be allowed to get in the way of the future—for either of them.

Denys must be made to see her not as his former lover, or as his former mistress, or as the woman who’d hurt him. She had to make him see her as his equal.

And just how, a rather deflating little voice inside her whispered, are you going to do that?

As if in answer, Denys’s voice came back to her.

Can you contribute even one idea that would increase the Imperial’s profits?

Of all the challenges he’d hurled at her a short time ago, that was the one she had the best chance of rising to, at least in the short term. She had no contacts in London yet, and she had no business experience at all, and she’d never seen a financial statement in her life. But she had intelligence, she had grit, and she had imagination. Those traits had carried her from the stockyards of Kansas City to the cabarets of Paris to a successful one-woman show in New York. Surely she could rely on them now.

With that, Lola’s innate optimism and resolve began to return. She’d arrange that partnership meeting, just as she’d told Denys she would, and she could only hope he showed up because she intended to bring an absolutely brilliant business idea with her. She just had to figure out what it was.

She considered for a moment, then she pulled her handbag from under her arm, opened it, and extracted the cards Denys had given her earlier. The first thing to do was to keep her part of the bargain she’d proposed and find herself an agent. And perhaps, she thought, tapping the white card against the smooth kid of her gloved palm, she’d learn some valuable information and gain some ideas in the process.