More Than a Mistress Read Free

“Sara—”
    â€œSara.” Carly’s voice rang out.
    She began backing away. “It’s Carly. Gotta go.” She gave a too-cheery smile. “Goodbye.”
    She was a vanishing blur of brown hair, black velvet and fast-moving shapely legs. At a much slower pace Daniel went back to the main deck, realizing there was quite a bit he didn’t know about Sara.
    His brother Troy strolled up to him. “You ready to go?”
    Daniel looked over the whole room, his gaze catching on the woman who’d occupied too much of his mind lately. Fresh determination surged through him. “Not yet. You might want to ride home with Jarod.” He filched a single red rose from one of the many bouquets around the room, still keeping her in his sight. “I’ll be late tonight.”
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    I shouldn’t have worn red.
    Sara berated herself a dozen times as she pushed through the door of her two-bedroom home. On the way to her bedroom, she tossed her sensible black wool coat and leather purse onto the chintz floral sofa, kicked off her flat patent-leather shoes and started working on the zipper to her demure black velvet dress.
    She shimmied out of the dress, threw it on the bed and pushed down her stockings and garter belt. Then she stood in her darkened bedroom wearing nothing but her sinful red silk slip.
    She shouldn’t have worn red.
    Men seemed to sense it. She was convinced they had some kind of sonar when it came to detecting her past. No matter how prim the outer layer was, they seemed to sense the sensual Sara underneath it all, the Sara who enjoyed all kinds of pleasures, from the sensation of velvet, silk, sun and water on her bare skin to the flavors of a succulent rare steak; fresh, yeasty bread; and strawberries dipped in rich, dark chocolate. The Sara who hid over a dozen bottles of perfume underneath her sink and had trouble deciding which to wear because she liked them all.
    Sara pushed back the hair from her face in frustration. Even now, at the age of twenty-seven, she fought a constant battle with herself, torn somewhere between being the quiet, reserved woman who garnered the respect of the community and the sensual one she hid in the privacy of her home. The sensual one had been known to get her into trouble.
    A stab of pain cut through her as she remembered the senator. He’d been such a nice, decent middle-aged man, but so lonely since his wife had been ill. Sara had been his receptionist. Her first job at eighteen, and she’d been thrilled and scared. It all began quite innocently with her working late nights, then having coffee with the senator and other staff at an all-night diner. He’d been like a father figure to her, and God knew she’d never had a father in her life.
    When her apartment building had been destroyed in a fire, the senator found a place for her to live. It had been easier to say yes than no, easier to accept the affection she craved. He gave her a single red rose the day she moved in, and one yes led to another and another and…
    One year later the press found out, and the nice senator blew his brains out.
    Sara’s mind seemed bent on punishing her tonight. The thought of her deceased husband loomed over her like a dark shadow, and still more guilt flooded her. When he’d learned about her past, he’d hated her for it. When he’d died in an automobile accident, he was still hating her.
    Sara shuddered at the memories. Sinking down on her bed, she wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t want to turn on the light. She didn’t want to see herself in the mirror. She needed to let the guilt and shame pass.
    It would have been comforting to have a man hold her during that painful moment. An image of Daniel Pendleton with the strong, gentle hands and broad shoulders seeped through her mind like mist.
    Sara impatiently shook it off and rose from the bed to turn on the light. She was lifting the hem of her