Mai Tai Marriage

by Chris Keniston

  Unaccustomed to closing her bathroom door, she was brushing her teeth when Jim strolled up beside her. “Mind if I use the other sink?”

  Yes, but she wasn’t going to admit being afraid of standing too close to him. Instead she half shrugged and with her foaming chin pointed to the empty space beside her. While she brushed her hair and applied her nightly moisturizer, a routine her mother had drilled into her since puberty, Jim flossed his teeth. As best she could, she focused on the non-existent wrinkles on the face staring back at her from the mirror, doing her utmost to ignore the occasional view in her peripheral vision of the gentle flex of strong arms moving the waxed thread between his pearly whites. How could any man make flossing feel sexy?

  Running through their nightly routines, side by side, made her feel like an old married couple. Except for the rush of hormones running through her veins, pumping need and want to places that were better off neither needing nor wanting. That made her feel like a damn newlywed.

  Having crawled into her side of the bed, she lay facing the bathroom. The other side of the bed was still unkempt from the muss Jim had created for her mother’s benefit this morning. Despite having her eyes closed, she felt his gaze on her. Knew he was standing in the doorway. Told herself to ignore the heat pouring through her as surely as if he’d touched her. As if his fingers, not his gaze caressed her, she gripped the sheets more tightly. When he’d made no sound, no effort to move, she opened one eye and found him staring intently at the empty half of the bed.

  “Do you still want to share?” he asked.

  She wanted to share a lot more than just the bed, but there was no way she was making a fool of herself. It was more than obvious that even if he was a man who had noticed the figure she’d inherited from her grandmother, he didn’t need or want her that way. What he needed was a good night’s sleep and he wouldn’t be getting that if he slept on the floor again. “I don’t need much space.”

  His chin dropped in a single motion, then he circled the bed. The mattress dipped heavily with his weight and her mind shifted to what it would be like for the mattress to sink from his weight hovering over her. Do not go there.

  “Good night.” The low rumble of his voice covered her like another blanket on her overheated body.

  “Night.” There was no way the word good was slipping past her lips. Long—maybe. Restless—probably. Good—doubtful. Very doubtful.

  Her mind drew vivid pictures of what life might have been like if years ago she’d chosen a man like Jim instead of Graham. And equally unbidden, as she pushed the images of being with Jim away, her mind traveled back to that gray day long ago. Every rancid minute etched in indelible ink.

  The night before she and Graham had agreed not to see each other again until the wedding in two days. Actually, it had been mostly Graham’s idea. Building the anticipation or some other romantic notion. Naively drawn in by his persuasive charm, she’d easily agreed.

  But that day had been insane. Her mother had had her running in circles with last minute details and changes. Having decided the silver tablecloths they’d painstakingly picked out were too silver, Lillian Hale had chosen to have all one hundred and twenty five tables lined with pewter cloths instead. The list of decisions to be made had been growing and any conversation with her mother had made her dizzy. On top of that, she’d had to return to her office to wrap up some final reports before she and Graham could leave for Paris. Lexie remembered wanting to go someplace warm with a beach so she could at least snorkel. Maybe squeeze in a dive or two. But Graham had insisted on a European honeymoon. Which, of course, didn’t matter since no self-respecting newlywed chose a destination for the tourist attractions.

  She’d arrived at the office early that morning at slightly past seven and had typed the last number on the last line of the stupid report. As the noon hour approached, between the comptroller, the new and improved company software and her mother, agreement or no agreement, a nice relaxing lunch with her soon to be husband had moved to the top of her to do list.

  “The reports are set to go, Tammy. Don’t send these out until after I’m on the plane for Paris. If anyone has any problems, direct them to my father.”

  “Got it, Miss Hale. And don’t forget, I’d like an honest to goodness French beret.”

  Lexie smiled at her admin assistant. “One beret. I won’t forget.” Not that Lexie had any idea what Tammy would do with a beret in Boston. But who was she to break a girl’s dreams.

  Forty minutes later, through the ever present traffic nightmare of downtown Boston, Lexie pulled into the underground parking to the renovated brownstone Graham had called home for the last year. The house had been in the Montgomery family for nearly a century. Bought from the famed Lodge family of Boston, or was it the Putnams? Whomever, Graham had overseen every single detail of the remodeling and wouldn’t even consider they find a new place all their own. At first it had bothered her to move into his home, preferring something that was completely theirs. But Graham was right, the house was well located, updated to the max and everything anyone could want.

  Slipping her key into the lock and turning the latch, she’d made it two feet past the foyer when she tripped over the first sign of trouble. One red shoe. Size six.

  She was still glued to the spot where she’d found the shoe when she heard the second sign of trouble. Especially if Graham actually had a whinnying horse upstairs. Her mind scrambled to put the pieces together and as hard as she tried, none of the scenarios were spelling happily ever after.

  Like the stupid victim in a film noir, Lexie actually climbed the stairs, inched down the hall, and slowly turned the doorknob to Graham’s bedroom. Their bedroom. And then yanked the door wide open. A half-naked woman in riding boots and a jockey’s cap straddled a harnessed Graham, smacking his completely naked ass with a riding crop as he whinnied and pumped into her.

  Blinking twice, she struggled to find her voice. And something to say. In the end she settled for tossing the house key on the bed and with as much dignity as she could muster announced, “You may want to change the reservations from Paris to Belmont.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Safe and warm in bed, Lexie snuggled deeper into her pillow. Most of the night she’d dreamed of swimming with the turtles, and riding the mantas. All the time knowing she would be breaking the protected species laws and not caring. Probably because somewhere in dreamland she knew none of it was real. It had to be a dream. Besides, while frolicking with the protected sea life, every move she made, every turn, every glide was accompanied by a warm towering shadow. Unable to make out his features, she still knew it was most definitely a he. A tall, strong, and though she couldn’t see a face, a handsome he.

  In the background music played and bells rang. As the warmth of the water drifted away, the sounds in the distance grew closer. Not just any music. “Eye of the Tiger.” Her phone. And not any bell. The doorbell.

  Maybe if she ignored them all, she could roll over and go back to sleep. It had been so long since she’d slept in. Everything usually started at the crack of dawn in the dive business. With her mom here, Billy had changed her schedule to an as needed basis. This morning she wasn’t needed.

  Katy Perry sounded off again. Apparently whoever kept telephoning needed her. Eyes still closed, she opened the night table drawer and swiped the obnoxious cell off the edge and into the drawer, then whirled away from the still playing tune only to slap her arm into a hard and unexpected surface. A warm surface.

  In less than five seconds, her groggy mind connected all the dots. Jim. Opening one eye, she stared at his t-shirt covered chest.

  Before she could get her body to catch up to her mind and pull away, Jim scooped an arm around her, slid his leg over hers, and pulled her against him. All of him. Every hard inch.

  “Morning,” he mumbled against her temple. Lips so close that his warm breath sent tendrils of heat to the last few places that weren’t already awake and humming from the early morning con
tact.

  “Uh…” More coherent thought didn’t stand a chance. The same soft lips that had nearly sent her into orbit yesterday brushed against hers now. His fingertips lightly caressed the edge of her jaw. His tongue dragged across the curve of her lip gently seeking permission to explore. And damn her foolish heart, she simply couldn’t say no.

  Pressed more fully against him, each stroke of his tongue sent delightful shivers down her spine, leaving her nearly drunk with pleasure and need. In only a few beats of her heart, the kiss had shot from a lazy good morning to a sizzling this-will-take-all-night. Her fingers clutched at his t-shirt, desperately wanting to feel more of him, terrified of taking what didn’t belong to her.

  His finger swept down the silhouette of her face, along her neck, beside the swell of her breast, making her body bow against his. She wasn’t sure which came first, her moan of pleasure or the sudden stillness of his hands. But she knew instantly one of them had come to their senses, and it wasn’t her.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she managed to draw away from the very thing she so desperately craved. Pulling herself to an upright position, she propped against the headboard. Her breath coming out in unsteady huffs, she glanced at the clock. Not at him. Nine in the morning.

  Already sitting up with his feet over the side, he seemed to have stalled, unable or unwilling to get out of bed. She could hear his ragged intake of breath. Through his shirt tension held in his shoulders. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. It was—”

  “I know.” She cut him off. “You were kissing her.”

  He pushed to his feet and turned to face her. Eyes wide, his mouth opened to say something, snapped shut, then he softly repeated, “I’m sorry.”

  “I understand. Really. We were half asleep. You thought I was Bridget. It was just a kiss.” And Niagara Falls was just a trickle, but what difference did a little white lie make if she could take away the heavy awkwardness hanging over them. Her phone sounded again and she really wanted to tell Katy Perry what to do with her roaring lion. “Hello,” she barked into the phone.

  “Are you decent?” Emily Everrett practically squealed into the phone.

  Instinctively Lexie looked down at her cotton t-shirt and sleep pants. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Mom can’t join us today after all, so I thought I’d pick up some Starbucks and swing by early.”

  “Oh, uh, well…” She’d completely forgotten that Emily and Maile Everrett were supposed to help her entertain her mom with a little girl’s day out. “I’m not exactly ready yet.”

  “I know,” she squealed again with impossibly heightened enthusiasm. “I can’t believe you got married and my brother didn’t tell me. Get some clothes on and get your married backside out of bed before your latte gets cold.”

  A faint memory of doorbells dinging in her sleep triggered alarm bells in her head loud and clear. “Emily, where are you?”

  “In the kitchen with your folks.”

  “Don’t say another word. We’ll be right out.” Once again she tossed the phone onto the nightstand, and let her head fall into her hands.

  “What’s wrong?” Jim had silently moved from his side of the bed to hers. That idea almost made her laugh. His side of the bed. “You look ready to pass out. Put your head between your knees.”

  At least his concern for her seemed to have pushed aside any post-kiss awkwardness. She shook her head at him. “That was Billy’s sister. I forgot we have shopping plans today. She’s in the living room. With my parents.”

  Jim bobbed his head, waiting for more.

  “Mom’s shared our good news.”

  This time he blinked and she saw the wheels of thought playing connect the dots behind those big blue eyes.

  “And if you’re a betting man, I’ll lay you twenty to one Emily called her mother before calling me. Maile Everrett has a better social network than any Internet company. Which means our plans for a quiet little divorce have been shot to hell. Before you can whistle Dixie, the whole damn island is going to know we got hitched.”

  * * *

  The cool water spray pounded against Jim’s still burning flesh. He’d been more than half asleep when she’d turned into him. At first he’d forgotten where he was. Who he was with. The not so early morning kiss might have been meant for Bridget. Which made Lexie only partly right. Every part of his body had known instantly he wasn’t kissing his former fiancée. And maybe the foggy part of his brain that had still been asleep might have believed he was kissing a dream. But the moment his fingers drifted across the swell of his dream’s breast, the part of his brain that was fully awake knew damn well only one woman in his life had breasts like that.

  Somewhere buried in the crevices of his mind he’d had vague memories of the wedding kiss. He’d convinced himself that the evening of Mai Tais had colored the experience making the memory way better than reality could have possibly been. Even yesterday’s kiss for the benefit of the crowd had not been enough to retrieve the sensations successfully pushed to the back corner of the darkest closet in his mind and locked away never to be re-examined.

  But after this morning’s encounter, that faint, liquor-fogged memory had been replaced by a kiss racing vivid and real through all his senses.

  Yesterday had been such a long day, that when they’d gone to bed after one in the morning, instead of sleeping, his mind had kicked around all the different scenarios of what Graham the asshole could possibly have to gain by hanging around. Every thought circled back to one common denominator. Graham wanting Lexie back no matter the cost. At four o’clock he’d sneaked out of bed to sit on the porch and clear his mind. At six o’clock he crawled back into bed and, totally exhausted, fallen into a fast, deep sleep.

  Until Lexie rolled into his arms. Groggy with sleep, he’d gladly scooped her closer, and before the head on his shoulders could completely kick in, the head further south had taken over. Yesterday’s guilt over feeling less connected to Bridget was nothing compared to the guilt that hammered at him this morning over making out with Lexie and liking it. And worse. Wanting to do it again.

  * * *

  “This would be lovely.” Lillian Hale held up a pale blue tailored shift cut in just the right places to accent Lexie’s figure without overemphasizing her endowments.

  “Ooh. I love it.” Emily Everrett reached for the hem and flipped it to look at the stitching. “Nice. Try it on.”

  By now, Lexie had tried on enough clothing to dress every woman in several suburban cities. She lived in Hawaii. Worked in a dive shop. Her lifestyle demanded little more then t-shirts and shorts with the occasional floral skirt when something more dressy was required. Where was she going to where a tailored shift? “I really don’t think—”

  “Humor me, dear.” Lillian continued to peruse through the rack of new arrivals in the small boutique. When she pulled out a black cocktail dress with sheer short sleeves and sequined edging, Lexie crossed her arms and put her foot down.

  “Mother, where am I going to wear that?”

  “This would be perfect for dinner at the club.”

  “What club? I don’t belong to a club.”

  “Not here. Home.” As if her mother had suddenly heard her own words, she quickly added, “When you come to visit.”

  “Mother.” Lexie laid the pale blue dress across the top of the rack. “What are you not telling me?”

  Emily paused at the other side of the clothing rack and looked up at the two women, her eyes lit with curiosity.

  “Nothing.” Lillian flipped through a few more dresses. “Did I mention Catherine Albright’s daughter got married last month?”

  Lexie had gone to school with the two Albright boys. The older in her grade, the younger a year behind, and about six years younger still was baby sister Abigail. “I remember you mentioning that.”

  “She married a Rothchild. Met him in Switzerland.”

  So they were going to do this dance again. Had she gone to the finishing school in Switzer
land that her mother had chosen instead of going to college, she, like Abigail, might be married to a somebody also. The only reason her mother had tolerated Lexie’s decision to go for the five year MBA program was her growing relationship with Graham. Long ago done with the old war, sparring over higher education versus the jet set, Lexie opted for a polite if tight smile. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.”

  “They’re grooming her new husband to take her father’s place. When her father steps down, his son-in-law will become the new CEO.”

  Blue shift in hand, Lexie turned for the dressing room. Maybe escaping to try the garment on was the coward’s way out of the argument, but it was also the path of least resistance.

  “Your father is getting older. The stress of running the family business is taking more of a toll on him.”

  Her heart constricted, momentarily robbing her of much needed oxygen. Spinning about on wobbly legs, she faced her mother. “Is something wrong with Daddy?”

  Pausing just long enough for dramatic effect was most likely something Lillian had mastered in the cradle. “Not yet. But perhaps if he knew he had someone to pass the business to, a qualified son-in-law, he would be able to ease up before his health becomes an issue.”

  A surge of relief kicked her heart into a normal rhythm while frustration with the same old battle swelled like a wet sponge. Had her mother not clearly drawn the parameter at son-in-law, Lexie might have thought this was all a pitch to get her to return to Boston by dangling the family business in lieu of a carrot. Not that her mother had ever approved of Lexie’s finance degree, or the long hours she’d put in under her father’s tutelage, or the idea of her one day becoming CFO. All a moot point since none of that interested Lexie any more. No, her mother was warming up for a completely different battle.

  “You remember how your father and old Jarrod Montgomery had talked of a merger when you and Graham were engaged.”