Praise for the novels of
ROBYN CARR
“This is one author who proves a Carr can fly.”
—Book Reviewer on Blue Skies
“Robyn Carr provides readers [with] a powerful, thought-provoking work of contemporary fiction.”
—Midwest Book Review on Deep in the Valley
“A remarkable storyteller…”
—Library Journal
“A warm, wonderful book about women’s friendships, love and family. I adored it!”
—Susan Elizabeth Phillips on
The House on Olive Street
“A delightfully funny novel.”
—Midwest Book Review on The Wedding Party
Also by ROBYN CARR
BLUE SKIES
DOWN BY THE RIVER
JUST OVER THE MOUNTAIN
THE WEDDING PARTY
DEEP IN THE VALLEY
THE HOUSE ON OLIVE STREET
ROBYN CARR
Runaway Mistress
For Heather Hudson Carr, my favorite.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
One Year Later
One
When she walked into the Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport, heads turned. Not just the men’s, but the women’s, as well. Jennifer was used to this; she did not come by her fabulous looks by accident. Trim, tan, blond, leggy, buxom, with a face that could stop time, she drew the attention of everyone she passed. She went to the counter and recognized the agent, a woman she’d seen several times before. “Hi, Elaine. Jennifer Chaise, here to meet Mr. Noble for the Las Vegas flight.”
“He hasn’t checked in yet, Ms. Chaise, but you can board if you like.”
“Thank you, but I’ll wait until he gets here.”
“Why don’t we go ahead and load your luggage to save time?” she said.
Jennifer gave a nod and a smile, glanced over her shoulder to the skycap who had followed her with her bags, and then went to a leather sofa in the waiting room. From there she could see the terminal entrance.
As she waited for her gentleman friend, Nick, to arrive at the airport, Jennifer reminded herself that not all that long ago she’d been a girl who couldn’t afford a bus ticket. Now she was a woman waiting for a private jet. Who would’ve guessed?
The private jet sent by the MGM Casino Resort would whisk them away to Las Vegas, where they would spend a few days. Nick was what was known as a Whale—a high-stakes gambler. She assumed he lost as well as he won because at least four times a year the MGM would send their Gulfstream to pick him up. But, according to them, gamblers never lost. And, despite the fact that he was married, Jennifer was the woman who accompanied him on these trips.
Jennifer was something of a gambler herself, but she didn’t wager money. She put herself on the line, betting that she could keep someone like Nick Noble so enchanted by her charms and beauty that he would be a generous suitor. It required quite a lot of skill and confidence. The skill she had acquired over time, but the confidence always threatened to elude her. Sometimes she was required to fake it. All the people who ogled her were completely unaware that beneath the veneer of wealth and glamour beat the heart of an uncertain girl who had come from nothing.
She reached over her knee to smooth her two-thousand-dollar eelskin boots over her shin—they were as soft as butter and were her favorite. There was a time years and years ago, when she was eight or nine years old, that her mother picked through a Dumpster, where she’d seen a pair of discarded shoes just about the right size for Jennifer. That had been an especially bad patch for them. Maybe that was what had fostered her passionate love of footwear. These boots were sage-colored and perfect with the cream skirt and jacket she wore; the skirt was short with a strategic slit up the left side and the jacket buttoned just under her breasts to emphasize her cleavage.
If it were left up to her, she might choose a lower heel, but Nick, for some strange reason, preferred that she look as tall and long-legged as possible. She was a respectable five foot five, but any one of her collection of high heels so exaggerated her height that she appeared five ten. The irony was that Nick was not tall. He was a short guy—maybe five-seven—and had a real thing for tall, thin blondes. No short-man complex there. In fact, Nick probably thought he was six-two. His ego was at least that big.
A half hour passed as she waited, and although people couldn’t help but stare at her, she didn’t fidget. The cabin attendant for their jet came into the terminal twice to speak to Elaine, ostensibly to see if all her passengers had finally arrived. By now the crew would be getting antsy. Nick would never tolerate tardiness in others, but he was rarely on time himself. He could be both aggressive and passive-aggressive, not always a winning combination.
Jennifer pulled her long mane of golden hair over her shoulder and stroked it as if it were a pet. Nick loved her hair. So had a few gentlemen before him. She cared for it as if it were an only child.
Elaine came out from behind the counter and approached her. “Ms. Chaise, are you sure you don’t want to go ahead and board?” the agent asked her.
She smiled patiently at the young woman. “It won’t get him here any faster, Elaine. I’ll just wait for Mr. Noble.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him?”
“No.”
“Have you, by any chance, called his cell or his car?”
She merely shook her head; there was no point in trying to explain. Nick didn’t like being chased down, hounded or prodded, so calling him would only have the opposite effect. He’d just take his time, no matter who was waiting. He said he’d be here, and he would be here. He’d keep everyone waiting, though, in case there was any question as to who was the most important person in this party.
Finally, almost an hour after the scheduled departure time, the doors to the small terminal opened and Nick strode through, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he entered. He was a little powerhouse with broad shoulders and thick, hard thighs. His arms were tanned and very strong, but he had small, gentle hands. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he wasn’t bad-looking, either. He had bushy brows, a bald head and twinkling blue eyes. Women found him sexy, but whether that was because of his looks or his power seemed irrelevant.
Nick was the kind of man it was very difficult to say no to; he was flamboyant, exciting, wealthy and had a slightly dangerous edge. Perhaps it was the constant presence of one, two or even three large, quiet men that gave him an aura that was both hard to ignore and impenetrable. Jennifer referred to them as the Butlers, which made Nick laugh, but the more accurate term goon came to mind. She tried not to think too hard about them. Nick had quite a collection of men who worked for him, followed him around, traveled with him. Errand boys. Jennifer assumed it made Nick feel important to have them always a few steps behind, ready to do whatever he asked. On this trip it was Jesse and Lou who accompanied them.
The airport agent breathed an audible sigh of relief and Jennifer stood. Nick slipped an arm around her waist, kissed her cheek and said, “Hi, baby. We ready to roll?”
“I think they’re all ready,” she said. “My luggage is on the plane.”
“Good girl. Let’s do it. I’m feeling lucky.”
Jennifer had met Nick Noble two years before. She had just taken a job in a commercial real estate company where her
duties included some secretarial work, as well as property management. It was easy and it paid well. She fielded calls from tenants who needed service such as repairs, collected and deposited rents, and kept track of leases. Her office handled a group of office buildings in Fort Lauderdale and Boca Raton and Jennifer believed she had been hired more for her looks than skills. She was definitely front-office material; the businessmen who leased from them were constantly asking her out.
She hadn’t been there long when the owner of the properties they managed stopped by. Nick. He took her to lunch that very day and made it clear he was not particularly interested in her performance as a property manager but, rather, he was romantically interested. Now, Jennifer might look like an easy mark with her swollen lips, full perky breasts and clothes carefully chosen to draw attention to her assets, but she was actually cautious. Nick was made to pursue her for a very long time, during which she learned enough about him to make a practical decision. He was married for the third time, had lots of money, several businesses and an iron-clad prenup. Barbara, he said, was very happy with her club, her jewelry, her big house, and was not likely to make any kind of fuss as long as he dinged her bank account on a weekly basis, and paid off the credit cards.
It turned out that Nick’s analysis of Barbara wasn’t exactly right. Barbara was extremely jealous and given to tantrums that could be very disturbing. But no one, absolutely no one, told Nick Noble what to do. And although Barbara was unhappy about this liaison, she wasn’t unhappy enough to give up the wealth she had married. Barbara Noble, wife number three, had been involved with Nick when he was married to wife number two. Jennifer had absolutely no intention of becoming wife number four, and it might have been that fact more than anything that had kept him intrigued this long.
Nick had gone after Jennifer with gusto. He called, dropped by, had her picked up by a driver and taken to this or that restaurant. There were flowers and weekly gifts. He took her out on his yacht and to his villa in Key West. He worked very hard to woo her. And she worked very hard to be alluring. She played a mean game of hard to get.
In the two years she’d been seeing him she had not quit her job. It was important to her self-esteem that she work at something other than being a mistress. True, she was away quite a lot. When Nick wanted her to travel with him, she did. It wasn’t as though her supervisor was going to complain. Nick was a very valued client.
Jennifer relaxed in the luxury of the Gulfstream, a glass of champagne on her side table, a novel in her lap. Nick, however, had been on the phone since takeoff. He frequently stood up, paced, raised his voice or shook his fist at the air. She picked up a few words here and there—“Look, goddammit, that’s been the program for years!” and “If it’s not delivered on time, you’ll pay, and you’ll pay big!” Jennifer had nearly perfected the fine art of being oblivious. His business wasn’t her business. If she got nosy while he was all riled up, his mood would only get worse. She understood that any man who had the amount of fiscal responsibility that he had might have a short fuse now and then.
After a couple of hours in flight, he’d had enough. Jesse and Lou were sitting in the first two seats on the plane, reclined and sleeping, their backs to Jennifer and Nick. Nick asked the flight attendant for a Chivas on the rocks and came over to where Jennifer sat with her feet up on the ottoman. He sat beside her feet and put a hand on her knee.
“What are you reading, babe?”
She gently closed the book and smiled. “Romance.”
His hand moved slowly over her knee and under her skirt, caressing her thigh. “That’s a good idea,” he said with a smile. He sipped his drink and swirled it in the glass, clinking the cubes against the crystal. And his hand went a little higher.
Jennifer stopped him right there. She pressed the book down, refusing his hand farther passage. The flight attendant had handled a little of everything on this job and would probably know enough to turn discreetly away, get very busy in the galley or something, but Jennifer wasn’t having that. “Behave yourself,” she told him sternly. “And try to be patient.”
Nick chuckled and removed his hand, but he leaned toward her. So she kissed him, a deep and promising kiss. She could taste the Scotch on his lips, in his mouth.
When they parted she said, “You be a good boy and you can get in the hot tub with me tonight.” But she knew she would probably be splashing around alone while Nick was preoccupied with poker.
The palm of his hand gently brushed her breast. “Yes, Mommy. Let’s see what movies we have.” He picked up the remote, turned on the overhead screen and read the directory until he found one he liked. Then he settled back on the leather sofa and shared the ottoman with Jennifer, keeping a proprietary hand on her thigh.
She went back to her book. She knew how to make her gentleman toe the line and that was imperative. It kept them interested. They could be like children sometimes, craving limits. She had very strict standards; she must be treated with respect and dignity. The minute a man made the mistake of treating her as property, she was gone.
Jennifer was a professional girlfriend. A mistress. Not a call girl or prostitute. She was an excellent girlfriend. The greater part of her subsistence came from her current gentleman, but she absolutely never asked for a thing. Never. It was always a gift, sometimes with her input, sometimes a surprise. The two diamond rings she wore were surprises, but last year Nick wanted to buy her a car and they went together to pick out her Jag.
Of course, had Nick been less than forthcoming with such gifts, she would have moved on long ago.
How does one get into a profession such as this? In Jennifer’s case, quite by accident and in all innocence. She was nineteen when her mother died and there was a little bit of money from the sale of her grandparents’ house. Just enough to get her from Ohio to Florida and pay first, last and security on a small efficiency. She longed for the sun to warm her heart, for she had found herself suddenly all alone. She had nothing and no one. She didn’t know what to do or where to turn. It seemed she had spent her entire life up to that point keeping an eye on her mother, and when she was gone, exhaustion combined with her grief. She needed a change and a little rest.
She got a job in a fine-dining restaurant in Fort Lauderdale bussing tables on her way to being trained as a waitress; she’d heard the money was good when diners dropped a few hundred on their meals and wines. When one of the slim, young hostesses was a no-show for work, the manager slipped Jennifer into a narrow black dress—the hostess uniform—and she began booking reservations, showing people to their tables and in general making nice with the patrons. She did it well, so they kept her in that job. At nineteen, she was hardly a knockout, but she had a kind of slim elegance, an aloofness, that was underscored by the fact that when she smiled she hardly ever showed her teeth because one front tooth was a little gray and she was embarrassed by it.
Within a couple of weeks she was asked out by an older man named Robert who frequented the restaurant. She shied off, declining. Why would she wish to go out to dinner with a man old enough to be her grandfather? “Because he’s richer than God,” said one of the other hostesses. “And he’s sweet as a kitten. Tell him I’m free.”
That set her to thinking. She was too alone. She had no family; not even a close girlfriend. She was barely getting by on what little money she made. Her best dress belonged to the restaurant—the little black number she wore for hostessing. And this was a nice man, well known around Fort Lauderdale. He was the least-dangerous person alive and very, very chivalrous. He just happened to like young women.
She went to dinner with him in her borrowed dress and, to her absolute amazement, had a lovely time. He was kind and thoughtful and patient, and he wanted her to enjoy herself. They became friends, and so it gave him great pleasure to take her places. It was important that she dress appropriately and so they shopped, outfitting her with more clothing at greater expense than she’d ever had in her life. He didn’t think the neighborhood in
which she rented her one-room studio was very safe and so he lent her the use of one of his company’s corporate apartments, rent free. He had several that were usually used by traveling executives. One more or less made no difference.
And he sent her to a cosmetic dentist. His treat. Her smile, he had said, was stunning, and she should use it often.
Eventually she even enjoyed sleeping with him, but that wasn’t really a priority for him. He spent the greater part of his energy on business, a lesser amount in the company of his lovely young mistress, and an even lesser amount with his wife. Jennifer remained his girlfriend for about two years.
Because Jennifer had never been able to trust anyone to take care of her, she was completely prepared for their relationship to be temporary. When it was over, most of the accoutrements would vanish. The apartment and leased car would have to be returned, though being rich and a gentleman, he would very likely insist she keep the clothing and jewelry. She was determined to be prepared. So while her gentleman picked up the tab, Jennifer put a little bit of money aside for a rainy day. Growing up hand to mouth had provided her with considerable restraint in spending, and discipline in saving. Jennifer was going to take care of Jennifer, and she realized she had stumbled upon a good way to do it.
The rest, as they say, was history. The first gentleman came along when she was nineteen, Nick when she was twenty-eight. There’d been a few in between. She had been very fond of Robert and sad when he moved on, and Nick had grown on her in the last couple of years, but the others had been merely business arrangements. The only requirements were that they be rich, civil and derive great pleasure from treating her well.
As Jennifer walked down the wide hall of the MGM Grand Hotel, her extra-short skirt swaying back and forth across her shapely thighs, her high-heeled boots padding softly on the rich and thick carpet, men turned and watched as she passed. Hotel guests and bellhops and maintenance men. Even here in Las Vegas where great beauty abounded, they filled their eyes with her. She walked past a little boy, grasping his mother’s hand, who turned and looked up at her. He couldn’t be more than four and was fascinated. That’s men—so visual. She looked down at him and smiled and winked.