The Mistresses. Katherine Garbera

I’ve given Bruce all the information on the artists I think will participate.”

      She made a few notes on her computer calendar. Adam came farther into her office, leaning one hip on the side of her desk right next to her.

      “Now that we’ve got school business out of the way….”

      She pushed her chair away from the desk to put more space between them. “Yes?”

      “I’ve got tickets to the Stars. Want to join me?” he asked.

      She wanted to say yes. She’d never been to a professional sports game. Ever. And the Dallas Stars were a really good hockey team. She knew they were going for the Stanley Cup.

      But more than any interest in sports, she wanted to spend time with Adam. To feed the obsession that had grown in the weeks when they’d been dealing with each other only for the school’s business. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What will the board think?”

      “I don’t care.”

      “That’s easy for you to say. If the school closes down, you still have a job.”

      “Do you think I’m that callous?”

      “No,” she said. “But I do think you’re used to everyone doing what you want them to.”

      “What are you afraid of?”

      “Why do I have to be afraid? Malcolm is just looking for an excuse to get the board to fire me.”

      “Going to a hockey game with me isn’t going to affect your job.”

      He had a point. She knew it. But she was starting to care for him and she was afraid if they got any closer that she was never going to recover when he moved on. And he would move on, because there wasn’t anything to hold him here in Plano. She wasn’t the kind of woman that made a man stop roaming around. Much as she wanted to be.

      “Okay,” she said, realizing that she was running from herself again. She had to stop running away if she really wanted to find herself.

      Adam was surprised by how challenging he found the work at Tremmel-Bowen. The school was one of those connections to his parents that he’d distanced himself from. They’d been very involved in the running of the school and, at twenty-five, when he’d learned the truth about himself, he’d been angry. Carrying on his family’s traditions hadn’t seemed important.

      But without intending to, Grace was giving him a chance to see the pride that his father must have felt in the school. Talking to the students and seeing the campus, he felt a connection to the Bowens that he’d lost when he’d heard a few sentences uttered from a distant relative. A relative who had made the loving family he’d always taken for granted a big lie.

      It was why he was a stickler about the truth.

      Tonight he promised himself that he would bring up the subject of Grace’s erotic story. He’d find a way to make her tell him about it and then admit he’d read it.

      He knew they’d both retreated after the intimacy they’d shared on his pool deck. And he’d come to some strange conclusions about himself and Grace. No matter why he’d first become attracted to her, the need to know her and bind her to him had grown.

      He rang the doorbell at her house a few minutes early. Grace lived in a neatly kept townhome community. A small, wrought-iron bench sat to the left on her small porch and a Welcome wreath hung on the door. The scene felt welcoming in a way he associated only with Grace.

      He heard her footsteps on some kind of hardwood or tile floor before the door opened. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore a pair of baggy jeans and a cute pink T-shirt. He smiled to himself at the way she carefully concealed her curvy body.

      He didn’t like that she hid that part of herself. She had the kind of body that he’d always dreamed of holding. And she was embarrassed by it. Her words—that she was made for sin—still lingered in the back of his mind.

      Even if he left Grace with nothing other than the school, he’d first make her see herself through his eyes. To see that she was so much more than that long-ago image she had of herself.

      “I just need to put on my shoes and change my purse. Do you want to come in for a drink?”

      “That would be nice,” he said, catching a glimpse of her decor over her shoulder. The floor was a dark hardwood, probably oak. A coat tree stood to one side, hung with Grace’s coats, and a brightly colored scarf lay draped over a small table.

      She led the way through her house. It was elegantly decorated with some homey touches—photos on the mantel, antiques in the hallways. As he glanced around her private sanctuary he realized he was seeing another layer of that private woman. The house suited her.

      “I’ve got iced tea, beer and some white wine,” she said, opening the refrigerator and glancing inside it.

      “Tea would be great.”

      “It’s not sweet.”

      “Perfect.” He realized she was nervous about having him here. And he liked that. She was always so confident of herself, moving through life as though nothing really bothered her, that he liked shaking her up.

      She got a glass with ice and poured the tea. She set it on the breakfast bar and moved to the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to the refrigerator and watching him as if she wasn’t sure what to do with him.

      “I’m not going to pounce on you now that we’re finally alone again.” Though he wanted to. His arms were empty without her in them. He wanted to kiss and caress her, to keep their relationship on a level that he easily understood, and fit the mold of what he expected from the women in his life, instead of dealing with all the other things that she brought to the surface. The longings for home and permanency that he’d thought he’d shed a long time ago.

      “I didn’t think you would,” she said with a tart note in her voice.

      “Then what’s up?” he asked, after taking a sip of his iced tea.

      She shrugged. “My house is so much smaller than yours.”

      He was coming to realize that one of Grace’s major hang-ups was the fact that she was conscious of what other people had and measured herself against them. Why would she think he’d be judging her by the size of her house?

      If she knew the truth about him—the fact that he was a fake Bowen—she might not care that his house was bigger than hers. But he knew it was his money, the money he’d earned on his own, that provided the basis for his wealth. He’d taken his parents’ entire fortune and donated it to charities that he knew his mother would have supported.

      “I like your house, Gracie. It’s a lot like you.”

      “How?” she asked, wrapping her arms around her waist. He had the feeling that if he said the wrong thing she was going to retreat even further into herself and disappear completely.

      “Well, this kitchen is bright and welcoming. Your house if filled with photos and antiques, stuff that has a lasting feeling to it.”

      She nodded and her arms dropped to her sides. “I always wanted roots. When I was growing up, my father served in a lot of different communities in Texas. We were constantly moving.”

      “And you’ve put them down.” He knew she had. The way she spoke about moving made it very clear exactly what she thought of it. He realized that, if there was going to be any real lasting relationship between the two of them, he’d have to change his ways. And he wondered if she would be worth staying for.

      She nodded. “The antiques aren’t heirlooms. I bought them at auctions and estate sales.”

      “That doesn’t change what they represent about you.”

      She bit her lower lip. “I’ll be quick getting ready.”

      “Take