Mistress Of Deception

But when she had turned round from seeing the last guest leave shortly after one-thirty, it had been to find Alan saying an abrupt goodnight and striding off to bed. Frustrated at having her wishes thwarted, Ebony had wandered around the house for ages, helping clean up, afterwards sitting alone in the kitchen, finishing off one of the half-empty bottles of champagne, thinking it might help her sleep.

No such luck. It had fizzed through her veins, sparking further restlessness. Having swallowed the last drop of wine, she had walked out on to the back patio and down the steps to the next terrace where she had stood and stared, first out across the darkened harbour waters, then down at the heated pool.

A swim will tire me out, she’d decided, make me sleep…

Positive she was alone, Ebony had slipped the tiny straps of her black crêpe party dress off her shoulders, shimmying till it had slid down over her hips and pooled on to the pebble-effect concrete. Stepping out of the circle, she had kicked off her shoes then peeled off her panties and tights.

The night air might have felt cool on her naked flesh, if her blood hadn’t been so heated by the wine. She had balanced for a few moments on the edge of the pool before flicking her long sweep of hair back over her shoulders and diving into the water.

If she had known for a second that Alan had been sitting in the shadows of the pool-house, she would never have dreamt of being so provocative as to go skinny-dipping in front of him. She certainly wouldn’t have floated up and down the pool on her back, idly splashing water over her breasts and stomach.

She’d really believed herself alone when she had climbed out of the water, and stood there, wringing her hair dry. Her shock when he had materialised out of the darkness had been very real. But he hadn’t allowed her any opportunity to speak, or explain. He had simply swept her hard against him, uncaring if his clothes were ruined, uncaring of anything but his ruthless intention to reduce her to a trembling mass of unconditional surrender.

It hadn’t been difficult. She’d been half aroused already from the way he’d looked at her earlier in the night. That, combined with her long-suppressed love just dying for expression, had made her a ready victim for his lust.

The trouble was she hadn’t interpreted his actions as lust at the time. She’d mistakenly believed that he had finally realised his own love for her, had at last given in to an extremely powerful and very natural need to make love to her.

Ebony groaned silently at the memory of her very rapid capitulation.

How could she have been so naïve not to have seen there was nothing loving in the way he had kissed her and touched her? His hands had been quite rough on her flesh, demanding no quarter. But by the time he’d pulled her over down on top of him on one of the deck-chairs, she’d been beside herself with passion and emotion. Alan loved her and desired her and needed her. There had been no question of not doing what he had clearly so desperately wanted.

Even now she could still recall the animal cry of satisfaction he had emitted when his body had finally fused with hers. Never mind that he hadn’t waited to undress properly, or that someone could have come down from the house and caught them in the act. She had been making love to the man she loved and who loved her.

It was not till the morning after that she was forced to review her way of looking at their first coupling, then all their subsequent couplings during that long and tempestuous night. Not till Alan had made his appalling suggestion in his bed at dawn had Ebony seen that what she’d thought of as love on his part had been only lust, and that his ‘making love’ to her had been no more than ‘having sex’.

She had hoped to become Alan’s wife. Instead he’d offered her the role of his secret mistress. She hadn’t been at all happy about it, but he’d secured her continued co-operation by turning up at her flat when least expected, then seducing her with a finesse that was as intoxicating as it was merciless.

For fourteen months, she’d endured his spasmodic visits, dying a little each time he came and left, hating herself for her weakness, yet unable to stop. More than once, she’d vowed to cut him dead, to send him away, unsatisfied. Whether he had sensed this or not, she couldn’t be sure. But whenever she’d reached that point, he wouldn’t come near her for weeks. Then he’d turn up out of the blue and, without saying a word, take her into his arms and start kissing her before she could utter a word of protest.

Those were the worst times—and the best—their lovemaking on the edge of violence, but so passionate and intense that she would despair afterwards of ever being able to give him up.

Could she now? Would she have the courage to take that step and walk away? No, fly away.

‘Lady! We’re here,’ the taxi driver growled.

Ebony snapped to attention. Already the concierge at the Ramada was opening the car door for her. Checking the fare on the meter, she handed the driver a twenty-dollar note, told him to keep the change, then alighted with her usual style. Old habits died hard, and she was a model first, cool and composed and sophisticated. The shattered woman inside would remain hidden from everyone, even Gary. She was not about to tell him all the grim details of her relationship with Alan, only enough to make her plan feasible.

‘Bob says you didn’t come home last night.’

Alan took a sip of the black coffee his secretary had just brought in. ‘Really, Mother,’ he sighed into the phone, ‘I’m not a child who has to answer for his actions. So I stayed out all night? So what? It’s not the first time.’

‘I realise that. That’s what’s bothering me. You’re working too hard, Alan. Only yesterday you said how tired you were. Yet I’ll guarantee you went from those awards to the office again. Or was it the factory this time?’

‘Neither.’

‘Neither? Then where, in heaven’s name, did you get to?’

‘Need I spell it out for you? I spent the night with a woman.’ Something inside Alan twisted as he said that last word, yet he could not deny that Ebony would be a woman in everyone else’s eyes. Though maybe not his mother’s. God, but she’d be appalled if she knew whom he’d spent the night with.

‘Oh,’ was all she said, ever the tactful parent.

‘No more questions?’ Alan mocked.

‘Would you tell me if I asked?’

‘No.’

‘So I won’t. But I feel sorry for whoever she is.’

Alan bristled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means I hope she isn’t in love with you, because you and I both know you’re not in love with her. Or are you?’

Alan was startled, then annoyed. Ebony, in love with him? That was a laugh. As for himself…to even think about what he felt for her in terms of love was preposterous. Love was what his mother and father had shared, what Adrianna felt for Bryce McLean. Maybe even what Vicki felt for that excuse for a man she was living with. Love was not this black torture that wrung his soul every time he thought of Ebony, especially when he thought of what she might be getting up to when he wasn’t around.

Had she lied to him about Stevenson this morning? he began worrying. Was she, at this very moment, in bed with her ex-lover? If she was, and he found out, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.

‘I hate to disillusion you, Mother,’ he bit out. ‘But these days, women are as capable of staying the night with a man without love as vice versa.’

‘My, my, you are out of sorts this morning. Maybe you’re not as capable of staying the night with a woman without love as you think. But as you say, that’s your private business. You don’t have to answer to me. The reason I rang is because I’m worried about Ebony.’

Everything inside Alan tightened. ‘Ebony?’

‘Truly, Alan, you are the limit! Are you trying to pretend now you don’t know who Ebony is?’

‘I wish I didn’t,’ he muttered under his breath.

Deirdre Carstairs sighed. ‘You saw her last night, didn’t you?’

A few ghastly seconds passed before Alan realised his mother was talking about the fashion show, not later. ‘Not to talk to,’ he hedged.

‘Did you think she looked all right? She seemed very pale and thin on television.’

‘Ebony has always been pale and thin.’

‘Well, she looked extra pale and thin to me. You don’t think she’s getting that dieting disease, do you?’

‘Anorexia? No, I’m sure she isn’t. Black always makes women look slimmer, Mother, as you very well know. And the make-up she wore was that stark white look. Ebony’s just fine.’ More than fine, he added in vicious silence, thinking of those long slender thighs wrapped around him, and those firm white breasts with their long pink nipples arching up towards his mouth.

He shuddered.

‘I’m still worried,’ his mother persisted. ‘It’s been ages since she came to see me and I know why. It’s because of you, Alan. You and your rudeness. I won’t stand for it any more, I tell you. I’m going to invite her over for dinner and you’re going to be there. Not only are you going to be there, but you’re going to be nice to her.’

‘Mother, if Ebony knows I’m going to be there, she won’t come.’

‘Then we won’t tell her, will we? We’ll let her think you’ll be away on business that night.’

Yes, Alan thought. There would be a certain sadistic pleasure in having her sitting at the table next to him, forced to be polite, unable to deliver any of those cutting little barbs of hers.

A malicious smile tugged at his lips. It would be an excellent revenge for that pathetic lie of hers that she was going to marry Gary Stevenson. For one ghastly moment, he’d thought she meant it, till he’d realised it was just another of those taunting, goading things she liked to say. It was another of her ploys to worry him, to make him jealous, to make him explode into the violent passion that turned her on so. Playing such games was part of her dark side, the side she kept hidden from everyone else.

Yes, he would enjoy making her squirm in front of his mother, enjoy it immensely.

‘You’re right, Mother,’ he said expansively. ‘Our feud has gone on long enough, but I do think we will have to surprise Ebony with my presence, otherwise she will find some excuse not to come.’

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