Montega's Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page A

at family reunions,” he said lightly.
    She faced him with a grateful smile. “Oh, we’d never get together all at once,” she said. “Too much potential for open warfare. My mother would probably knife Adrienne.”
    “Is she jealous?” he asked.
    “You bet.”  
    “Why?”
    “Adrienne currently holds the position my mother used to have.”
    “And that’s enough?”
    “For my mother it is. She regards men as property, once acquired, always owned.” She didn’t have to add that she disagreed with this philosophy; her tone as she said the words spoke volumes.
    “Is she still in love with your father?” he asked, not caring about the answer, but about the insight he was getting into Helen’s character.
    “I think she is, in a way, although she would never admit it. He was her first real love, and you never forget the first one, no matter who comes after him.”
    “You sound like an expert.”
    Helen hesitated. “No as a matter of fact, I’m not. But I know I’d never forget.”
    He noticed the way she phrased it. The event was still in the future for her, and somehow he wasn’t surprised.
    “I don’t think Sophia has felt the same way about another man since my father,” Helen went on. “Or maybe I just like to think that he was special to her. I don’t know.”
    “Sophia? You call your mother by her first name?”
    “I’d better. She’d have a stroke if I ran around calling her Mom. She likes to tell people that we’re sisters and see if they believe it.”
    “Do they?”
    “Sometimes. More often than you’d think.” Sophia’s lifetime preoccupation with her physical appearance had paid off handsomely. At forty-seven she was remarkably well preserved.
    “You look alike, then?”
    Helen smiled wryly. “I don’t know if you’d say that. We have the same coloring, similar features, but my mother is far more flamboyant, stylish. We’re sort of like the original and the photographic negative.”
    Matteo was watching her face, noting its changing expression as she spoke about her mother. “I can’t imagine your being a shadowy imitation of anyone,” he said softly, and she looked up to meet his eyes. They were closing, but he smiled at her before he fell asleep.
    * * *
    Helen got up in the middle of the night to check Matteo’s dressing, and as she touched his shoulder his good hand flashed from beneath the covers and caught hers in a viselike grip. Helen recoiled from the pain; for someone recovering from such a severe illness, he was remarkably strong.
    “Matteo, it’s me,” she said quietly. “Helen. I just want to change the gauze pad on your arm.”
    He studied her in the half light admitted by the open door to the hall and then released her, moving his fingers up to lay them against her cheek.
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You took me by surprise.”
    Not a good idea, Helen thought to herself as she discarded the stained dressing and replaced it with a fresh one. He must have had some rude awakenings in the past.
    When she stepped back he grasped her hand and pulled her toward him. She couldn’t read his face, but his intent was clear as he drew her onto the bed and into his arms.
    “Stay with me,” he murmured. “You’re too far away.”
    Helen lay next to him, snuggling up to his uninjured shoulder and putting her head on his chest. He encircled her with his arm, moving his leg so that she could fit comfortably against his side. He felt warm and solid, and she could hear his voice rumbling in his chest as he said, “While I was sick I dreamed that we were together like this.”
    “That wasn’t a dream,” Helen replied, feeling her face flame in the darkness. “You had the chills and couldn’t seem to stop shaking. I got on the bed with you and held you until you quieted down.”
    He didn’t answer for a moment, but she felt his lips moving in her hair. When his voice came it was low and husky.
    “I don’t know how to thank you for what you have done,”