Mistress for a Month

But their being lovers would certainly explain the uncharacteristic amount of chit-chat which obviously had been going on between them about Ebony Fire. Even the most taciturn men were prone to pillow talk.

The thought of Renée sleeping with the ruggedly handsome horse trainer stabbed deep into Rico’s heart. His fists curled over by his side, his nails digging into his palms. Theoretical lovers were a whole different ball game to an in-your-face, flesh-and-blood one. If what Rico suspected was true, then it was no wonder she never brought a boyfriend to the races. He was already there!

He stared at the way she was cuddling and petting the horse, but his brain didn’t see Ebony Fire as the recipient of her caresses any longer. His mind’s eye was picturing Ward Jackman, naked and aroused, beneath her hands.

A violent shudder ran down Rico’s spine.

The colt suddenly swung his head Rico’s way as he spotted him standing there at the stable door and neighed a welcome to his new visitor. Renée whirled, her eyes widening when she saw who that new visitor was.

For a few moments her usual composure seemed to desert her, her body language showing agitation as she hurried over to the stable door, the horse hot on her heels.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she snapped as she wrenched open the bottom half of the stable door and slipped out of the stall, quickly closing the door behind her before the colt could follow. ‘Don’t you usually go home to the family on the first Sunday of the month?’

The way she said the word, ‘family’, suggested he was a member of the Mafia, rather than the son of an honest, hard-working market gardener.

‘And hello to you too,’ Rico returned, impressed at how cool he sounded in the face of the jealousy and fury raging inside him. ‘The thing is, my dear Renée, I just couldn’t go another day without a dose of your charming company,’ he added in a mocking tone which masked the truth behind his words.

She totally ignored him as she concentrated on shoving the bolt home on the door before finally raising cool green eyes to his. ‘In that case, why weren’t you at the races yesterday?’

Rico smiled. ‘Aah, so you noticed I wasn’t there. I’m flattered.’

‘Don’t be. I had a very pleasant afternoon. I picked several winners as well.’

‘In that case, why are you so sour today? Or is that always your disposition around me?’

Rico could feel his tongue running away with him, along with any hope he had of Renée ever accepting an invitation to go out on a date.

Not that he was going to ask her now. Not until he discovered what was going on between her and Jackman. No man liked to make a total fool of himself, not even when that man was as desperate as he was.

His gaze swept over the object of that desperation, trying not to ogle the way the tight camel-coloured trousers she was wearing hugged every inch of her long, slender legs. Her neat white T-shirt was equally snug-fitting and showed more bust than he realised she had. Either that, or she was wearing a padded bra.

No, no padding, he realised on a second glance. Damn, no bra at all! Her nipples were starkly outlined against the thin white cotton, as long and hard as bullets.

Maybe their erect state was due to her being cold—the day still hadn’t warmed up much. Or maybe their condition was the result of her having spent all night in Jackman’s bed.

His stomach crunched down hard at the image of the other man sucking on Renée’s nipples. He could not bear it. He should leave. Right now, before he did or said something he would really regret.

But he couldn’t.

‘Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?’ he grated out, struggling not to sound the way he was feeling.

‘Would it stop you if I did?’ she flung back at him.

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so.’

‘Are you and Ward lovers?’ he demanded to know, his eyes glued to hers.

There was no doubt her face registered shock, her finely arched brows arching even further over rapidly blinking eyes, her red-glossed mouth dropping slightly open.

Her recovery was swift, however, with her face resuming its characteristically self-contained, slightly superior expression. Ignoring him again for a few moments, she bent to pick up the black leather jacket and matching bag which he hadn’t noticed sitting on the ground next to the stable wall. The movement swung her smooth curtain of thick, shoulder-length brown hair across her high cheekbones, momentarily hiding her face from him. When she straightened it fell back into perfect place, a testament to the expertise of her hairdresser. Tilting up her chin slightly, she fixed her slanting green eyes on his own eyes, her gaze cool and steady.

‘Why do you ask? Has someone said something about us?’

‘No. But I heard you talking to Blackie here just now and it sounded like you were pretty chummy with Ward. Let’s face it, it’s hard to get two words out of that man at the best of times, but he seems to have told you plenty about the horse’s progress.’

‘So you jumped to the conclusion that he told me in bed.’

‘Well, did he?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she said quite coldly, and turned back to start stroking Blackie’s head once more.

‘I’m making it my business,’ he bit out.

‘Why?’ she said indifferently, not even bothering to glance his way. ‘What’s it to you who I sleep with?’

‘I don’t like you sleeping with Jackman,’ he ground out.

Now she did stop stroking the horse to look at him, her expression curious. ‘But why?’

What could he say? I don’t like you sleeping with any man. I want you in my bed and my bed only.

She would laugh in his face.

His pride simply could not stand that degree of humiliation.

‘He’s the syndicate’s trainer,’ he snapped instead. ‘I don’t like the idea of you getting inside information which should be shared with all the partners.’

She gave a small, dry laugh. ‘Typical. I should have known the reason would be something like that. For your information, I’m not sleeping with Ward. If you had any brains at all, or any powers of observation, you’d know that he and Lisa are madly in love. She’s even moved in with him. The only reason Ward talks to me more than you is because he knows I genuinely love my horses. I’m not just in racing for the status, or the socialising. Satisfied now?’

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 felt 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.

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