Margaret Way - Innocent Mistress

“You know where this could lead,” Jude said into her hair. “You’re far too beautiful for me to resist.”

“I want to forget everything for a little while.”

“Is that the only reason?” He turned her to look at him.

“Sex can be very liberating.” There was more than a hint of bravado in her tone.

“I asked if that was the only reason.”

Her expression changed. “You know it isn’t.”

Margaret Way takes great pleasure in her work and works hard at her pleasure. She enjoys tearing off to the beach with her family at weekends, loves haunting galleries and auctions and is completely given over to French champagne “for every possible joyous occasion.” She was born and educated in the river city of Brisbane, Australia, and now lives within sight and sound of beautiful Moreton Bay.

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AFTER the well-heeled, well-endowed Poppy Gooding left his office in a swirl of silken perfume, Jude carefully wiped any lingering trace of lipstick from his mouth, then straightened his tie.

“Play it cool, Jude,” he advised himself.

It didn’t help. He knew he’d had about as many of Poppy’s come-ons as he could comfortably deal with. He’d never met a girl so oversexed. He suddenly recalled a movie about sexual harassment in the workplace in which the man was the victim. Poppy’s behaviour wasn’t as dastardly as that woman’s had been but her methods of seduction were at the very least questionable. Poppy completely lacked the degree of reserve one saw in properly brought up young ladies—although maybe that thought belonged in the Dark Ages… She most certainly wasn’t a virgin, but then virginity wasn’t as valuable as it used to be, either. The key point was that Jude had to stop her before she removed her clothes. Or his. He was the guy who’d always considered mixing business and pleasure high risk. In this instance it could see him right out of a high paid job.

After months of trying to fend her off he’d come to the conclusion Poppy had big plans for him. He was even tempted to get it over with and prove a big disappointment. Two of the guys in the firm, fellow associates, had given service beyond the call of duty. Maybe it was a required course of action? At present he was the guy holding out, resulting in a lot of ribbing from his colleagues.

The big problem was that it would be a bad, bad move to offend her. Her father just happened to be his boss, Leonard Gooding, senior partner in the prestigious firm of Gooding, Carter and Legge, corporate lawyers. Being invited into this firm usually didn’t happen for years, if ever, but he’d earned a lot of kudos along the way. He’d graduated top of his law class with first class honours. He was a good athlete, track and field which didn’t hurt, either—even couch potatoes like Leonard Gooding were sports mad. He could only be thankful Poppy had spent the previous six months overseas, no doubt spending a goodly portion of her father’s money. It was Poppy, the collector, who’d made the running almost from the day she laid eyes on him.

Women smiled on Jude. He’d be a fool not to have noticed, though it took them a little time to realize how keen he was on his bachelor status. He was twenty-eight years old. There was a lot of exasperating talk about his “blue, blue eyes” among the girls in the office. Blue eyes apparently scored well. The articled clerk, Vanessa, had even told him she wanted to pass his blue eyes on to her children. Even so Vanessa didn’t put him on the defensive like Poppy.

City life had enforced his entrenched view of women. Every last one of them was after a husband—preferably a rich one—they’d been brought up that way. It was intimidating for guys. Some of them thought Jude, as a husband, would do nicely.

The only thing was, he wasn’t in the running. Not yet. Most guys were happy to start considering marriage when they got to thirty or so but he wasn’t sure he would. Not that he played unobtainable—he’d had lots of nice girl-friends—but there were huge problems after The Knot had been tied. Marriage after the marvellous heady flush of the Big Day was a big letdown. Women seemed to live for the day alone as if they were no ever-after to occupy their time. The fabulous wedding dress—it needed to be white, the veil, the masses and masses of flowers, the picturesque church, the reception, just family and friends that turned into a crowd of four hundred. In his opinion, and on the evidence, they’d been planning it since they changed booties for shoes. The trouble was the excitement didn’t last and lots of times neither did the attraction.

Statistics proved too many marriages didn’t work out. Some of his clients had been married two and three times and they sure as hell didn’t give the appearance of being happy. In fact most of them had a henpecked look. Jude didn’t want his marriage—if he ever stopped flinching away from the hazards—to be a dismal failure. He didn’t want to see another kid, like himself, suffer. If the saddest thing in the world was a mother losing her child, it was just as sad to be a child losing its mother.

These days he got by playing fancy-free man-about-town. A month ago he’d made it into a list of the Ten Sexiest Men in the city, though he’d never returned the call of the woman journalist who had started the whole nonsense. In any event she turned up a glossy photo of him at a function and used that under the heading Local Heartthrob. There was no point in being outraged. Vanessa had made a bumper sticker of it and somehow managed to fix it to the back of his car. All the beeps and the cheeky little waves finally aroused his suspicions and he had stopped in a loading zone and ripped it off. No one seemed to take it seriously anyway, so he’d shrugged off the ribbing. It was a crazy world. Sometimes it didn’t seem worthwhile a quiet, country boy like himself trying to hold the line.

Nevertheless he’d changed a lot since his university days. Now he had to dress in sharp suits, shirts and ties, even his socks had been labelled cool by that journalist. He could kill her. Cool socks? That was a brain wave. His unruly blond hair—always had too much curl in it—was cut just right according to Bobbi his secretary who from the beginning had taken pity on him and told him the in places to shop, even where to have his hair cut. He no longer had short back and sides and as a result it skimmed his collar. He couldn’t stop it flicking up all over the place. He’d long ceased trying. The guy at the unisex salon who’d cut it told Jude with a roll of his eyes he was a dead ringer for some famous actor. For an eye-popping minute there Jude had thought the man with the scissors was going to kiss him, but no, he settled for a friendly squeeze on the shoulder.