by Deborah Lean
The fingers stroking up and down her back were a sensual delight. And considering she'd just had an hour of sensual delights that was really saying something.
Naked, lying face down on the bed, she arched into the stroke of his fingers and felt the stirrings of passion once again. She turned her head to look at her companion. He lay on his side, facing her, his head supported on his arm as he teased her with his gentle caress.
She was captivated by his movie star handsome face, the devilish grin and deep brown eyes. Rolling on her side toward him, she saw the expression on his face and smiled.
“Are you ready, already?” she laughed as she raised her hand and trailed her fingers across his chest and down under the sheet that covered him.
“I seem to be in a constant state of readiness where you're concerned.”
“Tony,” she said, the laughter gone from her voice. “We don't have much time and we need to talk.”
“Talk is highly overrated.” His finger traced a line along the curve of her breast.
She swatted his hand away. “You need to talk to Elaine.”
“Why do we have to talk about Elaine? It just spoils the mood,” he said, turning to his back, his eyes on the ceiling.
“We have to talk about her because she's your wife. The wife you're supposed to be asking for a divorce.”
“I divorce Elaine and we lose this nice country hideaway. It's been nice to get away from everything, to just have it for the two of us.”
“Well, much as I love the idea, it isn't really the two of us is it? As long as you're still married to Elaine, there are three of us.”
She sat up on the side of the bed and pulled the sheet across to cover her nakedness. Looking over her shoulder at the man she loved, she shook her head in resignation. “I feel like I'm your dirty little secret, Tony. I want to be open with our relationship, to be able to go places, meet with friends. I don't want to hide anymore.”
“It's been this way for over a year. Why are you pressuring me now? Why can't we go on like we have?”
“Because I want a home, a family, a relationship that is full time. I want more than the few hours you steal away from work.”
“You knew what this was...when we began.”
“Do you love me, Tony? You say it, but do you mean it?”
“Miranda, you know I love you,” he said. He threw off the covers and stood at the side of the bed, gathered his clothes and headed to the bathroom.
“Are you ever going to ask Elaine for a divorce?” She wrapped the sheet around herself and walked to where she could see him starting the water in the shower.
“If I divorce Elaine...I lose half of everything, and I've worked too hard to get where I am.”
“You bastard,” Miranda yelled. “I should have known you'd get cold feet. You've been stringing me along all this time, telling me you love me and when the time is right, you'll leave her.”
“That was always your idea. I never said I was actually going to leave her. I always said ‘what if’. I'm a lawyer. I'm very careful what I say.” He walked toward her, reaching out.
“Leave me alone,” she said. With as much dignity as she could muster draped in a sheet, she attempted to evade him and tripped on the material pooled at her feet.
“Miranda.” He rushed forward.
“Go have your shower, Tony. Wash my scent away before you go home to your wife.” She pulled herself up from the floor, refusing his help.
“Fine, if that's the way you want it.” Tony went back to the bathroom, the water in the shower running hot, the room swirling with a heavy mist.
When the door closed behind him, Miranda threw the sheet off and quickly dressed. She made sure she left nothing behind and walked out of the bedroom.
In the living room she picked up her cell phone and dialed a number she had never called before. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Mrs. Walters?” she asked. “Mr. Walters wanted me to call. He's at the cabin and has had some car trouble and wants to know if you could pick him up as soon as possible.”
“What's he doing at the cabin?” Tony’s wife asked. “ I thought he was in the city at a meeting.”
“I think it would be better if he explained, I was just to give you the message.”
“Why didn't he call me himself?”
“He said his cell died. I was just passing through the area when he caught my attention and asked me to call. I have to go.” Miranda hung up the phone and figured she had about fifteen minutes before Tony was ready, and about forty-five minutes before his wife arrived.
Quietly, she crept into the bathroom and gathered all of Tony's clothes, stuffing them into a garbage bag she'd found in the kitchen. She threw on her coat, gathered up her purse and the garbage bag, and rushed out into the cold winter afternoon.
She opened her car door, tossed everything in the passenger seat, and leaned in to quickly start the engine.
With one final look at the cabin, she laughed and tossed Tony's keys into the forest, where they quickly disappeared in a foot of snow.
She climbed into her car and let the motor run, rubbing her hands together to warm them as much as in a feeling of satisfaction. With a glance at her watch, a gift from Tony, she figured his fifteen minutes were about done.
As if on cue, he came roaring out of the cabin, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist. He stood on the porch, staring at her in disbelief.
“Where are my clothes?” he yelled.
Miranda rolled her window down and smiled. “I'm taking them to the cleaners for you, my last act as your personal assistant.” She started to roll the window up and stopped, leaning out to get a better look at him. “And I quit, just in case you didn't get the message.”
She rolled the window up, put the car in gear, and drove away, thoroughly enjoying the image in her rearview mirror of Tony running barefoot through the snow, chasing her car down the rock lined lane.
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