The Seduction of Mrs. Valentine: Complete Series Read online

  The Seduction of Mrs. Valentine: The Complete Series

  Laci Mitchell

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also by Laci Mitchell

  Copyright © 2017 by Laci Mitchell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Photo by Canstockphoto/shmeljov

  1

  September of nineteen-fifty four started like most other Septembers of my married life. Mr. Eisenhower was president, I'd been married to my husband Bill for seven year, and I had no children to send off to school like the other women in my neighborhood. Perhaps it was spending my days alone while my husband worked. Perhaps it was the seven years I'd been married that finally started to itch. Who can say what the cause of it all was, but it was that September that started something that would change my life and my marriage, forever.

  The day he came into my life started like any other. I kissed Bill goodbye like I did every weekday morning, I washed the dishes left over from breakfast, cleaned the upstairs and downstairs of our home, and was preparing lunch when there was a knock on my kitchen door. I thought perhaps it was Gladys from across the street, wanting to borrow a cup of sugar, or perhaps a sales man wanting to sell me the latest gadget that would make my life easier.

  I knew as soon as I opened the door for him that he was no sales man. No self-respecting housewife would buy anything from a man who looked like him. Dark denim jeans, white cotton T-shirt and a black leather jacket on a body with breadth of a boxer but the unblemished face of a man in his early twenties. There was no mistaking him for what he was, a young man rebelling against the constraints of society, or at least that was how he wanted to appear. He looked like an extra in that motion picture Bill had taken me to see last year, the one with Marlon Brando about the motorcycle gang. The only thing missing was the motorcycle, of which there was no evidence of in my driveway behind him.

  The contrast between him and my husband was startling. Nervous energy that I hadn't felt for a long time moved through my bloodstream, making my heart race, my palms grow damp and the flesh between my legs tingle in a way that usually only happened when my husband touched me in our marriage bed.

  Some instinct told me to close the door, to forget I'd seen him. This man was dangerous, but not in the way that worried most women at home alone. The only threat I sensed from him was to my faithfulness to my husband. Even after only looking at him for a moment, I realized if I let him into my home I would start down a path that could destroy everything that I'd built for the past seven years.

  "Can I help you?" There was a wariness in my voice, and he must have heard it, because a smile came onto his face. The wind ruffled his light brown hair and there was an easy confidence in his eyes, but there was something else there too. An appreciation in the way his eyes swept over me, which gave me a funny feeling in my stomach and told me that if I was so inclined, he would be open to doing things with me. Things that I hadn't done with anyone other than my husband.

  I tore my eyes away from his and he gave a little laugh. I was not going to be doing anything with this man. I loved my husband and he loved and trusted me. I wouldn't destroy that for a drifter who'd shown up at my door one day.

  "I'm James Hurley, we spoke on the telephone yesterday. I called about the room for rent."

  This was him? He was not the image I'd built up in my mind yesterday when I spoke to him. He hadn't seemed dangerous then, but perhaps his particular charm only worked in person. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have told him that there was some mistake, that the room had been rented and shut the door in his face. Of course I was not thinking clearly in that moment, and would not for a long time to come, so I stepped back and let him into my home.

  He walked past me, and the scent of him wafted over to me and I clenched the door knob in my hand. He smelled of leather, cigarette smoke and a brand of aftershave that I couldn't identify, but it had a clean woodsy scent that dampened my underwear. Was it because he smelt so different from my husband that was causing this reaction in me? Was it the novelty of a man who looked like him, who smell like him here in the middle of suburbia that drew me to him? As much as I loved my husband, I was aware that he dressed, smelled and acted like every other man in the neighborhood.

  "I'm Mrs. Valentine." I made sure to emphasis my married status, but I wasn't sure if it was for his benefit or mine. My insides were trembling and there was an excited desire flowing through me that I was sure was written all over me. I knew this was a mistake, that this man could get me into loads of trouble, but I couldn't seem to stop this any more than I could stop a runaway train hurtling down a train track. "The room is this way. The rent is four dollars a week and it includes the room and your board."

  I led him further into my home, and up the stairs toward the room that was available for rent. We walked past the bedroom I shared with my husband, with its neatly made double bed and I shoved aside the flash of an image of this young man kneeling naked behind me, taking me from behind. I needed to focus on the matter at hand, the reason he was here. He was here to see the room Bill and I had decided to rent out since there would be no children to fill it. Bill thought it would give me the chance to earn some extra pin money.

  I swept my hand out when I got to the spare bedroom, and he stepped inside and looked around. It was rather plain, with a single bed and matching wood bedroom set. We hadn't known the type of person who would be renting from us, so we'd opted to keep the room simple looking. It seemed a lot smaller now that I was standing inside the door, with him only a few steps away. My eyes darted from his broad, leather clad shoulders to the bed. What would he look like there, on the bed without his jacket and perhaps his shirt?

  He turned around to face me. I quickly took my eyes off the bed and looked up at him. The corner of his mouth pulled up, and when he looked into my eyes it was like he knew what I was thinking.

  "I'll take the room. How soon can I move in?"

  "The final decision on renting the room will be in my husband's hands. Come by for dinner and you can meet him."

  "I'll see you tonight. Thank you, Mrs. Valentine." He stuck out his hand and I took it. Even with that brief shake, I could feel the calloused roughness of his palm, which was in sharp contrast to my husband's smooth hands. His hand felt like trouble, but I assured myself that I would not have the opportunity to act on the thoughts those hands were putting into my head. My husband would make the final decision to rent to him, and Bill would never agree to rent the room to a man like this.

  "So what is it you do, James?"

  My husband smiled affably at the young man sitting to his right at the supper table. We were almost finished with our supper, and my husband had dominated the conversation. I ate my food without tasting a thing, as the tension inside me made me feel brittle and easily broken. Despite my certainty that Bill would eject James from our home, he'd been warm and welcoming when James had come to the door.

  Perhaps he would not have been so easy with the younger man if he knew about the thoughts and desires that were coursing through me. I know that he would not allow James in our house if I told
him what was going on inside me, but I could not do that to him. It would hurt him to know that another man was making me feel things, making me think things. If we rented the room to James, I would have to be strong and resist the powerful temptation he presented.

  "I'm looking for work at the moment, but don't worry. I have enough money saved and will be able to pay for the room. I like fixing things, and I'm going to talk to the owner of Halloran's Garage and see if he has a need for a mechanic."

  "I know Bob Halloran. He’s good people. Tell him you're renting from me and Marie and I'm sure he'll find something for you."

  This wasn't going in the direction I'd expected it to when James had left earlier today. I was sure that Bill would dislike him on sight, but that apparently wasn't the case. I must be hiding what was going on inside me at the sight of James in his T-shirt, because my husband seemed oblivious. My eyes caressed the curve of Jame's bicep and the solid strength in his shoulders when my husband's eyes were elsewhere.

  James glanced over at me, and the smile he'd given me earlier today was back. It was the one that kicked up the corner of his mouth and made him look like he knew exactly what was going through my mind.

  Thank God dinner was coming to an end. I didn't know how much more of this I could take before I started squirming in my chair. The only thing that remained was dessert and coffee, and with any luck I could get through it without giving Bill any hint of the thoughts going through my head.

  "I made pie if anyone would like some." Serving the pie would give me the excuse I needed to get out of this room. The smell of James’ aftershave made me want to be alone with him, and bury my face in his neck while he buried his hand between my legs. I pasted a smile on my face and forced myself to look at Bill. My husband looked back at me for a moment and there was nothing in his eyes to suggest he knew that anything untoward was happening between James and I. In all reality, I was certain this was all in my head and that there was truly nothing between me and the other man in the room except what my mind wanted to conjure up.

  "Would you like some pie, James? My wife makes the best pie in the county."

  James looked over at me with that same half smirk. "I'm powerfully tempted, but I will have to pass on it tonight. I told a friend of mine I'd help him out with his car and I should be on my way."

  Relief poured through me. He was leaving, and I could relax for the first time since he'd walked back into my house this evening. I stood and started gathering the dishes to take them to the kitchen.

  "Let me help with that, Mrs. Valentine." James stood and gathered some of the dishes that were on his side of the table.

  "There is no need for that, James. I can manage. I'm sure you'll want to be leaving to go help your friend." I reached out my hand for the dishes he was holding, but he would not give them to me. I hoped that my husband would insist that he sit and talk with him for a few more minutes, but Bill was no help whatsoever.

  "I think I'll wait on the pie, darling." Bill stood and took his pipe off the stand on the sideboard. He stuck out his hand toward James, who shook it with his free hand. "It was nice meeting you James. The room is yours if you want it."

  With those words dashing all hope that my husband would unknowingly save me from myself, he turned and went into the living room. Soon after the radio came on and I was alone in the dining room with James.

  "It's no trouble to help you out, Mrs. Valentine. I need to go to the kitchen in order to be on my way."

  I knew that the sooner I got to the kitchen, the sooner he did too. I needed him out of my house so I could regroup and marshal my defenses against him. I took the dishes that I had in my hand and went into the kitchen. I set them down on the counter in preparation for washing them. James followed me in, put down the dishes he was carrying and leaned against the counter as soon as I turned on the water.

  "Your husband seems like a nice man, Mrs. Valentine."

  The way he kept referring to me as Mrs. Valentine made me feel like Bill's mother. I might be a woman seven years married, but I wasn't as old as he made it sound.

  "If you are going to be staying here, you can call me Marie."

  "Marie is it? That's not quite the mouthful that Mrs. Valentine is. Are you sure your husband won't object?" He ran the tip of his finger down the side of my bare arm, starting where the short sleeve of my dress ended and traveled down to my elbow. Goosebumps sprang up on my skin and my nipples hardened. Thank God my brassier and the heavy cotton of my dress hid my physical reaction to his touch, but I had a feeling that he knew exactly that he was doing to me. I swallowed hard, but I did not tell him to keep his hands to himself.

  "Why would my husband object?" I looked up at him, and ran my tongue nervously over my lower lip. I knew in my heart, that he was not talking about his using my given name.

  "He not the jealous type?" His eyes traveled over my face before coming to rest on my lips as he leaned forward slightly. I could feel his breath, warm against my face and I trembled. It was hard to focus on the thread of the conversation, but I managed to answer him.

  "I've never given him a reason to be jealous." And I hadn't. In the months that Bill had courted me, and in the seven years we'd been married, I had never felt anything close to what this man was doing to me right now. Was this a test? Had unknown forces sent this young man to tempt me and test the strength of my marriage?

  I didn't know exactly what it was about him that ignited the spark of unfaithful thoughts in my head. But I knew, even in those first moments alone with him in my kitchen, with my husband only a few rooms away innocently smoking his pipe and listening to the radio, that this young man would tempt the devil himself.

  "If I had a wife who looked as good as you, I'd be jealous." He was so close now that I could see the brown flecks in the green of his eyes. Only a fraction of an inch separated our lips, and all I needed to do was shift forward and I would feel his mouth on mine.

  Something on the radio must have tickled my husband's sense of humor and he laughed out loud. The sound of it was like a bucket of ice water, and I gasped and sprang away from James. What was I doing? What was I thinking? My husband was in the next room, he could come into the kitchen at any time and the last thing I wanted was for him to see me kissing another man.

  "Well I guess it's a good thing that my husband trust me, isn't it." I needed to get this man out of this house before I forgot just how much my marriage meant to me and that I'd be stupid to do anything to jeopardize it. "Thank you for your help with the dishes, but I'm sure you'll wanted to be getting on your way."

  He looked at me for a second, with speculation in his eyes. I suspected that he knew just how much he was tempting me, because that smirk appeared again.

  "Sure, Mrs. Valentine." He moved away from me and the breath I was holding eased out of my lungs. His boots were silent on my shiny linoleum floor as he walked toward the door. He scooped his leather jacket off the hook I'd hung it on, slung it over his shoulder and gave me one last look over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  And then he was gone, taking the smell of leather and his aftershave with him. I sagged against the counter, and wished that my husband has seen the danger that James posed to our marriage. If he had, surely he would have objected to his staying here and I would not be tested like this. But my husband hadn't seen it, and I didn't have the will to tell James not to come back.

  2

  I had mending to do later that evening while I listened to the radio with Bill, but after jabbing my finger for the fifth time, I sighed and gave up. I had thought that finishing my chores in the kitchen for the evening had given me enough time to put James from my mind, but apparently not. He consumed my thoughts even as I sat here spending a typical evening with my husband.

  Bill looked over at me, and for a second I thought I could see in his eyes that he knew what was distressing me. Surely I couldn't be hiding it that well. I was normally calm and unflappable, but not today, not since I'd met James. Bill kne
w me better than anyone else and surely he could see what was happening to me. But I blinked my eyes and whatever I thought I'd seen wasn't there. "Are you alright, darling?"

  "I'm fine, dear." I set aside the shirt I was mending, and searched my mind for away to broach the topic of James with my husband. Surely he didn't want me to be alone in the house with a strange young man all day. Maybe he figured that James would find work and be away from the house at the same time he was. I had no such assurances. Some instinct told me that it wouldn't matter to James if my husband was out of the house or not. And I couldn't say that having my here with us would do much to deter me if I'd been so tempted by James that I'd almost kissed him in the kitchen. "Don't you think it's strange, us renting a room to someone we don't know?"

  When Bill first proposed renting out the room, I'd thought that we would rent it to an old bachelor or perhaps a female student from the local college. I'd never thought that the only person to show any interest in the room was a young man whose raw masculinity made me forget that I was a married woman.

  "I don't know about that, darling." Bill puffed on his pipe with a contemplative look on his face. "People rent out rooms all the time, and I think you'll be happier with something to occupy you since there are no children in the house."

  Bill's lips tightened for a second and I knew the source of it. I was sorry that the discussion about James had brought the conversation around to this topic. When we'd first gotten married we knew we wanted to have children, and figured that we were young and babies would come eventually. But years of trying had netted nothing, and a visit to the doctor had told us why.

  My husband had gotten the mumps while fighting overseas over a decade ago, and it made it so that he couldn't be a father. I'd resigned myself to being motherless, despite my own longing to have a baby. What was the hardest for me was the hurt I could see in my husband's eyes whenever someone asked us when we were going to start a family. Thankfully, people had stopped asking. I knew I had to get this topic back to the matter of James before it got too painful for him.