The Mistresses: Make-Believe Mistress

He realized he couldn’t confront her with the story he’d slipped into his briefcase. He leaned back in the other guest chair, just watching her. She fidgeted and then a blush stole over her face as she twisted her fingers together. She took a deep breath and glanced away from him.

He’d wanted the meeting to finish so they could officially close the school. His last tie to the lie that was his legacy. But now … now he wanted to linger in town and in her office. Find out how deep those still waters ran in Ms. Grace Stephens.

“I think if we work together we might be able to convince Malcolm and the rest of the board of regents to give you and the school a second chance.”

Her eyes widened. “What? I thought you were …”

He smiled at her. “Some new information has come to light and I think that with a little attention both you and the school will benefit.”

“It’s not like you to be so mysterious, Mr. Bowen.”

“No, it’s not. We can discuss it over lunch, Grace.”

She bit her lower lip, tipping her head to one side to study him. “Let’s be honest here. Why are you really interested in helping me out?”

Her cheeks were flushed and a tendril of hair that had escaped the clip at the back of her neck curled temptingly against her cheek.

Damned if he wasn’t interested in getting to know this woman better. Now that he’d seen those tantalizing glimpses of the woman beneath the very prim headmistress persona.

“Adam? Are you paying attention to anything I’ve said?”

“Of course,” he said. “We can discuss everything over lunch.” He repeated the invitation, knowing it sounded more like an order.

He knew there were risks involved—Malcolm was hot on keeping everyone in their very proper place—but Adam wasn’t an employee of the school. Just on the advisory board.

He wanted to know more about Grace. And he’d always gotten what he wanted. Sometimes he’d paid a high price for achieving it, but in the end that price had always been worth it. This time, he could oversee getting the school back on track financially—making money was something he was good at. And he could get to know the real Grace Stephens. The one she hid from the world.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked, crossing her arms under her breasts.

He was momentarily distracted by the view. “I just realized how pretty you are.”

She tucked the strand of hair back behind her ear, tilting her head to the side to study him. He wanted her to find whatever it was she was looking for in his face. Some kind of realness or sincerity. The kind of thing that he was never sure that he had.

“Mr. Bowen, are you feeling okay?”

“More than okay. I’ll have my chauffeur meet us at the gates of the school. We can discuss your plans for Tremmel-Bowen and other things.”

“What other things?” she asked, a trace of panic in her voice. “Do you want me to resign? I don’t think that would be in the best interests of the school. I’m a good administrator, Adam.”

“No, Grace. I don’t want you to resign.” He liked the way she said his name. But she only did when she was passionate about something. About the school. When she forgot herself, forgot to be nervous around him.

What would happen if she forgot herself more often?

“What do you want?”

“You.”

Two

He swept the papers off her desk and lifted her up onto the polished walnut surface. Slowly, exquisitely he unbuttoned her blouse. Ran his finger down the center of her body, over her sternum and between her ribs. Lingered on her belly button and then stopped at the waistband of her shirt. He slowly retraced the path over her torso. This time his fingers feathered under the demi-cups of her ice-blue bra. A shaft of desire pierced Grace.

Excerpt from “Adam’s Mistress” by Stephanie Grace

Grace swallowed hard and reminded herself that he’d just been planning on firing her, so he certainly hadn’t meant anything by saying he wanted her. He was probably being clever. What would a sophisticated woman do?

She had no clue. At heart she was a small-town girl who lost herself in her books and imagination. And the attention of a man, the kind of attention that she thought she glimpsed in his eyes—awareness and attraction—that she had absolutely no idea how to handle.

“Grace?”

“Yes?”

“Did I scare you?”

Heck, yes, he’d scared her. But she was the headmistress of this school, a job she intended to keep. So she wasn’t going to allow him to see that slight bit of insecurity. “Of course not. You mentioned lunch …”

“That’s right, I did, but I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Adam.” She really wasn’t. She was afraid of that inner temptress that her father the preacher had always warned her about. The woman hidden beneath the baggy clothes with the hour glass figure and features that just naturally drew masculine attention. From the time she was thirteen she’d had to repent for this body and now that she had Adam’s attention, she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it.

She preferred him to continue to be her secret crush.

“Grace …”

“What?” she asked, not even aware of how long she’d been standing there staring at him.

“Stop it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, nibbling on her bottom lip and hoping he wouldn’t call her on her lie.

“You’re thinking about this too hard. It’s just a meal.”

There was a tone in his voice that made her feel really ridiculous but she knew she hadn’t imagined what he’d said to her. “Then why are you looking at me like I’m on the menu?”

He laughed, a deep masculine sound. “Am I?” he asked, with his charming grin. The one she’d seen him bestow on other women but never on her.

She felt giddy for a second at having captured his attention just by being herself. Not because of her made-for-sin figure, but because of who she was.

Oh, my, she was in over her head. She needed to get this conversation back on to the topic of the school. She shook her head.

“Malcolm wants this place closed down for good, doesn’t he?” she asked, desperate to focus on the school and not Adam.

“Can you blame him?” Adam asked. He rose and moved closer to her, leaning one hip against her desk and crossing his legs at the ankles.

It was a totally masculine pose and should have put her at ease, but didn’t. There was something measured, calculated in the way he stood there, waiting for her reaction.

She sighed, wondering if he somehow blamed her for the downward spiral of the Vernon-Dawn-Malcolm mess. God knew that she blamed herself for not paying better attention to Dawn and Vernon, but to be honest they’d been two of her best teachers.

“No, I don’t. That kind of betrayal would cut so deep. I wish I’d been more observant and realized what was going on.”