Guilty Pleasures (24 page)

“I’ve got a meeting, Marybeth. Doc Parsons still taking care of Mom?”

“His son,” came the answer.

“I’ll call him. Tell Mom I send my love.”

And J. P. Woods hung up. Just what she needed. Another complication in her life. And when the hell had it all become so difficult? After consulting her address book, she phoned her mother’s doctor and was put through immediately. “How serious is it, Seth?” she asked the young doctor.

“Going to put a pin in her hip,” he said. “She’s in reasonably good health, Janie. You coming home?”

“Can’t right now, but in the spring. I’ve asked Marybeth to find someone to come live in with Mom.”

“I’ve got a good woman for the job,” Seth Parsons said. “Marybeth isn’t too good when it comes to judging character.”

“I’ll pay a hundred dollars more a week than the going rate in Bug Light, Seth. I’ll take your advice and let you handle it. Call my sister. She’ll be relieved.”

“You sound tense, Janie,” the doctor observed. “You keeping healthy?”

“I’m fine, Seth,” she told him.
Fine except that I want to be with a man who’s a total fantasy, and I can’t be with him until Friday night, and then only for eight hours at a time. Fine except life sucks.
“Thanks for your help. Call me if Mom needs anything, okay?” She rang off. She didn’t want to talk anymore, especially with people who called her Janie and reminded her of a time and place she would rather forget.

And then it was Friday. While the day dragged, J. P. Woods’s mood lightened. Just a few more hours and she would be with Charles Pell again. Would they pick up where they had left off? Would he fuck her again until she was begging for mercy, and loving every minute that his cock was flashing back and forth in her cunt? She didn’t care. She just needed to be with this man, who had so tenderly brought her alive and aware of true passion. She wanted to be in his arms, and this time, she would touch and lick and kiss his strong body, as he had done to her the other night. But she couldn’t take another week like the one that had just passed. She had to be with him more than just a few hours.

She rushed home, almost too excited to eat the light supper she had prepared for herself this morning, but she heated it up, gobbled it down, and bathed. Then, at exactly eight o’clock, she climbed into her bed and pressed the A button on her Channel remote. She didn’t even have time to blink before she found herself alone in her bed in her London town house. Where was he? Where was Charles Pell, the Earl of Pelton? Had he left her? “Smithers!” she called to her maid, and the woman came.

“Did the earl say he was coming tonight?” she asked.

“After midnight, my lady. He was delivering Lord Reggie back to his wife. A right good job you did with that one. Miss Montague says the difference between the first time Lord R. fucked her and last evening was like night and day.”

“Thank you,” Lady Jane said. “Do we have champagne on ice, Smithers? If not, see that it is done, please. The earl and I will celebrate our success with Lord Reggie.”

“Right away, my lady,” Smithers said, and bustled out of the bedchamber.

They had schooled Lord Reginald Bowie together, she and Charles! The knowledge excited her. Yes, they had. Graphic and sexual recollections of how they had done it suddenly flooded her memory. It was amazing that he was so like she was. They were a perfectly matched pair. “I will never let him go,” Lady Jane murmured to herself as she waited for her lover.

Smithers returned with the two footmen, Flint and Bertie. One carried a footed silver champagne bucket, the other a large bottle of the bubbly. Smithers had two crystal glasses in her hand. Directed by Smithers, they set everything up as it should be, and then Flint opened the bottle containing the golden liquid, pouring her some.

“You’ve both done very well,” Lady Jane said, praising the two footmen as she sipped her champagne. “You may all have the rest of this evening off,” she dismissed them, and the three servants backed from the bedchamber.

It was not long before the door opened again and Charles Pell stepped into the room. “Good evening, my love,” he said. He walked across the Aubusson carpet, poured himself a glass of champagne, and raised it to her. “We are celebrating the return of a chastened and more sensitive Lord Reggie to his wife, I presume.”

“We are,” she replied. “And perhaps we may also celebrate the passion you and I will soon share.” Jane looked at him coquettishly over the rim of her glass.

“Indeed, my love,” he agreed. Then he said, “Jane, my darling, I have had the most wonderful idea. Surely there are young ladies in as desperate need of training as there are gentlemen. Would it not be as much fun to school a stubborn woman as it is to school a difficult gentleman?” His sipped the sparkling liquid in his glass.

“Charles!” she cried. “What an absolutely marvelous idea! I agree. We shall expand our little enterprise to include certain ladies. I shall be jealous, of course, when you fuck them, you know.”

“And I shall be jealous when they lick and suck your juicy cunt for me,” he told her. “But, my love, we shall have such great fun, won’t we? I would advise, however, that we move down to my country seat near Barrow in Suffolk once the season is over. We will give grand house parties together, which will allow us to discreetly get the word out regarding our little enterprise.”

“People will gossip that I am your mistress,” Lady Jane said.

“Will you mind?” he asked her.

She smiled at him. “No. Not as long as you continue to love me.”

“I will always love you, Jane,” he told her sincerely, and the look in his blues eyes told her he spoke the truth. Then he stood up, set his champagne aside, and quickly disrobed so that he might join her in the bed.

Jane held out her arms to him in welcome. She had waited a lifetime for a man like this. Yet, until she had met Charles Pell, she had never believed that such a man actually existed. Naked flesh touched naked flesh, and within moments the world was exploding about them. She wanted nothing more than this world, this life, this man, and she would have what she wanted. She deserved it, damn it.

“Mr. Nicholas!” His secretary’s voice cut through the silence in the office. The sound was a bit tinny coming through the old-fashioned intercom. He supposed he should really have it upgraded. Everything else in his offices was up-to-date.

“Yes, what is it?” he answered.

“We have a problem with the Channel, Mr. Nicholas.”

“A problem? What kind of a problem?” Mr. Nicholas demanded to know.

“We have a client who refuses to leave, sir,” the secretary said.

“What time zone, and who is it?” he asked.

“United States, Eastern Standard Time zone, and it’s J. P. Woods, the publisher,” was the reply he received.

Hellfire and brimstone,
Mr. Nicholas thought. What had brought on this bit of foolish emotionalism on J. P. Woods’s part? She was a cold, practical woman, and he actually had high hopes for her eventually. Well, he had best see to it himself. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “It’s a Regency fantasy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Nicholas picked up a rather complicated remote, programmed it, and then pushed an A button. There, up on the enormous flat-screen television, a scene of an elegantly appointed bedchamber appeared. J. P. Woods was sitting up in that bed, clutching the hand of her lover. Mr. Nicholas pushed the A button a second time so that he might be in the room with them. “My dear Ms. Woods,” he said by way of greeting, “this is not acceptable. Not acceptable at all. You need to be gone from the Channel now.”

“Who are you?” J. P. Woods, aka Lady Jane, demanded. “And how dare you materialize in my private quarters? This is my fantasy. I did not ask you into it.”

“I am Mr. Nicholas, CEO of the Channel Corp. This pleasure dome is available from eight p.m. in the evening until four a.m. in the early morning. No client of the Channel may remain beyond those eight hours, Ms. Woods.”

“It’s my fantasy, sir, and I am not relinquishing it for the next sixteen hours before I may come back again,” J.P. said.

“Ms. Woods, you are a powerful, respected, and even feared woman in your reality,” Mr. Nicholas said.

“And in my fantasy, I am a wealthy, sought-after woman of some mystery,” she told him. “I like it better.”

“You like being fucked,” he said bluntly. “Here in your fantasy you may be as wanton, as perverted as you wish, and none of your contacts in the real world knows your secret. If they knew, you would appear weak, even helpless, and you do not want that, Ms. Woods. You wish to put forth an aura of strength, and you do.”

“You don’t understand,” J. P. Woods cried.

“Then make me understand,” Mr. Nicholas said.

“Since that horrible night when my mother’s john tried to rape me, threatened my sisters and my whole family, I haven’t been able to really trust men. I am always watching, wondering what it is they will want of me and how they will somehow try to force me to their will. Because of that, I have never been able to fall in love. How could I? I couldn’t show any signs of weakness. I couldn’t allow myself to be taken advantage of and ruin my reputation in publishing. My business is like a small town. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone is always looking for an advantage over someone else.”

“But,” Mr. Nicholas said, “you have gained all you have by virtue of your hard work and your determination not to be taken advantage of, my dear Jane. Why on earth would you give all of it up for a simple fantasy?”

“I have found the perfect man,” she answered him.

“Of course you have. You created him. He is your fantasy,” Mr. Nicholas replied. “All humans create fantasies to help them get through their lives.”

“He loves me,” she responded. “He seeks nothing from me other than my love.”

“And he will be here for you when you return to the Channel tonight, my dear.”

“I am not going,” J. P. Woods said quietly. “And even you cannot make me give up my fantasy to return to the world of my reality.”

How does she know that?
Mr. Nicholas wondered angrily. But it was true. If someone held tightly to a fantasy of true love, it was impossible to detach them from it. He sighed irritably. “Ms.Woods, I cannot allow you to remain here. I need you where you are as head of Stratford Publishing. You have a certain value to me in that place. I am, however, in a position to make a deal with you in exchange for your returning to your reality.”

“What kind of a deal?” J.P. asked, intrigued in spite of herself. “And just who are you?”

Mr. Nicholas looked directly at J.P., his black eyes engaging her eyes in a hard gaze. “Is it really necessary for me to say it, my dear?” he asked her pointedly. “In this persona, however, I am the CEO of the Channel Corp.”

An icy shiver raced down J.P.’s spine as a new and rather frightening reality assailed her. “N-no. It isn’t necessary for you to elaborate further,” she replied. “I understand.” Then, regaining her equilibrium, she inquired, “What kind of a deal, sir?”

He smiled at her. “I will put Charles Pell into your reality, Ms. Woods. He will come to you from London as an author you very much want to sign. And while he will exist in your reality, I will also allow him to continue to exist in your Channel fantasy. He will need no period of readjustment, for he will remember you quite well. Indeed, you may take up exactly from where you left off tonight.”

“It is a very generous offer, Mr. Nicholas,” J.P. said slowly. “Too generous, I fear.”

“Why so?” Mr. Nicholas asked her, smiling again. He admired her astuteness.

“What else do you want of me?” J.P. asked him.

“If I do this for you, my dear, you will belong to me from the moment of our agreement,” he told her frankly.

“But I could remain here in the Channel,” J.P. responded quietly.

“You could if you forced the issue,” he agreed. “But that should anger me. You don’t want to cross me, my dear. I know you well. You are a woman who needs to be in charge of her life and everything around it. Stay here and your Charles might become rather engaged by one of those young women he has suggested that you train together. I could see that you grew old rather than remaining the nubile and delicious creature that you are here in the Channel until you repulse him, for he will always remain young.”

“I will grow old in my reality,” J.P. reminded Mr. Nicholas.

“But very slowly, my dear,” he promised her. “You will be one of those women who ages gracefully because of your rather excellent bone structure. The same will happen to your Charles. I can guarantee that your libidos will never age. You will always want each other.”

“I can’t become one of those women who allows love and sex to control her,” J.P. said. “I should lose my authority if people thought I was weak. That is why my passions are released only within the Channel. I am thought to be cold and heartless. It is better that way.”

Mr. Nicholas laughed heartily. “You shall remain as hard as iron, and cold as ice publicly,” he promised her. “Such is your nature, my dear, and it will never change. Charles will appear smitten by you. People will talk, but they will not laugh. He will be profitable for Stratford. Your influence in the publishing world will be increased by the belief that you discovered him. Every book he writes for you will be a bestseller. And all you must do to gain this, my dear Ms. Woods, is to leave the Channel now.”

“I could leave, and you might forget your promises to me,” J.P. said.

“I might,” he agreed, “but I will not. I never forget either a promise or a fault. As I have said, Ms. Woods, you are important to me.”

“When will I see Charles again?” she asked.

“You have an appointment for lunch with him and his agent, Aaron Fischer, today,” Mr. Nicholas told her.

J.P. considered everything Mr. Nicholas had said. If she refused to leave the Channel, he could make her life hell. Then she laughed softly at her thought. But if he kept his promise . . . if he kept it . . . she would be happy, and her career would flourish. Talk about having your fudge cake and eating it too. She turned to her lover, who had remained silent through all of her conversation with Mr. Nicholas. “Charles?”