The Soon-To-Be-Disinherited Wife

by Jennifer Greene

  She wasn’t usually self-conscious about her appearance, but this was one of her free days. She’d not only started the morning working with little kids but had also expected to spend the rest of the day with boxes and frames and ladders. Her hair was casually pinned up with a simple enamel clip. She was wearing lipstick and her grandmother’s star-sapphire earrings, but that was it for the fussing. Her twills were ancient, her purple shirt too oversize to be flattering. Yet he seemed to think she looked good, because a sexual charge kindled in his eyes.

  She felt exactly the same potent charge…and it scraped on her conscience. That first night, she had excuses-his sister was ill, she hadn’t seen him in so long, she was tired, all that stuff. But now she knew that sizzle was strong, knew it wasn’t right, yet awareness of him still tiptoed up her senses like a wicked secret.

  Even so, when she realized that he was obviously headed for her, she did the hospitable thing and met him at the edge of the yard.

  “Amazing what riffraff this neighorhood attracts,” she teased.

  He laughed. “So this is your gallery?”

  “Sure is.” She hesitated, not wanting to invite trouble but feeling the increasing need to understand why he still had such a tormenting pull for her. “I’ve got a mountain of stuff to do-bet you do, too-but come in if you have a few minutes. I’ll get you a cup of coffee, show you around…How’s Caroline?”

  He sucked in a breath. “Not great. She’s still not talking-but something clearly happened to her. This isn’t like a chemical depression. Something specifically had to trigger this, something that’s killing her. You haven’t heard any gossip in town?”

  “Tons of it. But nothing ever about Caroline. Everyone likes her, Garrett. And everyone was hoping she and Griff would get back together when they hit that rough patch.” She led him inside. “Has anyone reached her husband yet?”

  “They keep trying. Messages have been left at all his contact points, so it’s just a matter of him checking in. Deep inside China, communications just aren’t what they are here.”

  Josh poked his head out to say hello. She brought out a mug of java for Garrett, then got trapped on the telephone with a customer. By the time she caught up with him, he’d obviously been freely wandering around. “My God, Emma, what you’ve made of this place.”

  His enjoyment buoyed her spirits as nothing else could have, so she couldn’t resist showing off some of her favorites. Right inside the lobby was a fish tank-not filled with fish but with a mermaid sculpted in marble and inlaid with precious and semi-precious stones. “I found the artist-and this crazy, wonderful piece-in a tiny jewelry store in upstate New York.”

  “One of those who-can-believe-it kind of things? She’s…riveting. Hard to take your eyes off her.”

  That was exactly how Emma had always felt. “Come on, I’ll whisk you around upstairs.”

  She didn’t have to coax him. Today he was wearing casual chinos, a dark polo. As a teenager, he’d been a workaholic and a hard-core overachiever yet always friendly and gregarious. He was still easy to talk to, but maturity had given him an inner quietness. His emotions didn’t show the way they used to. He had that mover-and-shaker look, that kind of virile, vital energy, even with his emotions locked out of sight. She wondered-she hoped-that he’d found someone to love him. Really love him. Because he seemed vitally alone.

  Beware, whispered her hormones.

  But she was aware now and had every intention of being careful.

  Surely it wasn’t wrong to feel compassion for him, though. His sister was in the middle of a frightening crisis, after all.

  She showed him her Oriental lacquer room and the long, skinny hall where she displayed a range of Oriental carpets. She reserved the far east room for women’s art-sculptures, oils, watercolors, cameos of women in all shapes and forms. The west room across the hall echoed a range of art about males-men sleeping, studying, working, fighting, enjoying guy hobbies. Down a few doors was her “room of light,” which displayed work with gems.

  “Sheesh, Emma. You’ve put together the most unique gallery I’ve ever seen,” he said. “The way you present everything is just…fun. But it’s also thoughtful and interesting.”

  “Quit being so nice. It’s going to my head.” But damn, it was nice to share her love. She’d put a ton of thought into every room, every piece she used for display, every artist she chose to represent. “Hey, you haven’t said what you were doing at the real-estate office. You suddenly thinking about buying property in Eastwick?”

  “When hell freezes over,” he said wryly, but he motioned to the sheaf of papers under his arm. “I picked up a list of short-term rentals from the agent.”

  “I thought you’d planned to stay home?”

  “So did I.” His tone was rueful. “I should have known that wouldn’t work. But now that I’ve been around Caroline, talked to her doctors, I’m afraid I’m going to be here for a while. At least a few weeks.”

  “Oh, Garrett. You’re that worried your sister isn’t going to recover from this?”

  “I just don’t know. In fact, all I know is that I can’t leave her. And I’ll likely get on better with my parents if I’m not under their feet-and they’re not under mine.” He walked into the upstairs bathroom-just to see what she’d done in there, as if he knew she’d done something. And she had. The ceiling was a mural of graphic comic art, all superheroes. He came out chuckling-and claiming to have a crook in his neck-but he pretty swiftly returned to their conversation.

  “Anyway…I decided I’d better look for some alternative living arrangement. So far, though, I’m not thrilled with the places the real-estate agent came up with. All of them are a distance from town. I don’t want that, don’t want to stay in a hotel either. It’s easy enough for me to fly or helicopter into New York several times a week. All I need is a simple place to set up a temporary office. A bed, a mini kitchen. Some quiet. A place to set up a computer, fax, printer, that sort of thing. I don’t want anything fancy or far.”

  She frowned thoughtfully as she led him back downstairs. “If you want a place in town, I actually know of one. Just two doors down, in fact.”

  Garrett raised an eyebrow. “The agent claimed there was nothing close in town.”

  “That’s because it’s not on the formal market.” She explained the situation. Most of the old homes on the block used to be residential, but they’d been gradually turning into businesses-lawyers, accountants, psychologists, brokers, that kind of thing. Not the kind of commerce that required big parking needs, but quiet enterprises that were willing to maintain the historical flavor of the buildings. “Anyway, my neighbor, Marietta Collins, is a holdout. She rented her upstairs to a boarder, a writer, only he recently moved. She didn’t list it because she only wants to rent to friends of friends. I have no idea what the place looks like, Garrett, so maybe it won’t suit you at all. But if you like, I could call her…”

  He did like. It only took Emma a second to dial and find out the place was still available for rent. Garrett blinked at the price.

  “I can’t imagine why she’s giving it away.”

  “Well, it could be a clunker. But I think she just really wants someone she can trust living above her.”

  “Good thing you had pull, huh?” From the amused sparkle in his eyes, Garrett was obviously not used to anyone having to pull strings for him-likely it was usually the other way around.

  “Well, you’d better see it before you get your hopes up. You might decide the real-estate agent had better ideas for you.”

  “There really isn’t much to rent. You know how Eastwick is. Everyone wants to own. And no one’s looking to encourage transients.”

  She had to laugh at the idea of Garrett being considered a transient. And though he expressed concern over stealing any more of her workday, she walked over to the place with him. She knew Marietta would be uneasy without a personal introduction-and she was also a little worried what she might have gotten him into. If
the place was a disaster, she didn’t want him to feel obligated to take it because of her.

  Marrietta Collins took one look at Garrett, beamed and promptly gave them the key to check out the upstairs at their leisure.

  Emma’s impression of the apartment was the opposite of Garrett’s. “Well, it isn’t exactly a garret, Garrett, but-”

  “That pun is sick. I’ve always liked a sick sense of humor in a woman.”

  She had to chuckle-but the apartment was hardly what Garrett must be used to. A few centuries before, the structure had been a tavern where customers slept upstairs-apparently next to each other, since there was only one main room. Obviously the details had been modernized, but the core architecture had been preserved. The mellow old floorboards creaked and groaned, but they’d obviously been treasured, because they were polished to a high gleam. Honey-pine paneling framed a small stone fireplace. The bathroom was strictly utilitarian, but the tiny kitchen area had an eating nook tucked under a graceful Palladian window, shaded by giant elms just outside.

  “The furniture’s the pits,” Emma said ruefully.

  Garrett was checking out every window view. “Spoken like a woman,” he teased. “There’s a couch and a chair. What more do I need?”

  “Some lamps. Some pictures. Some rugs,” she fussed.

  “It’s got a decent desk.” He motioned to the relic that may-may-have been a teacher’s desk in some century past. Emma loved antiques, but in this case she thought someone should have had the sense to throw it out-in that same century past.

  “I guess I just assumed there’d be a separate bedroom.” Instead a double bed was tucked in a side alcove, slanted under the eaves.

  “This way there’ll be lots of airflow. Ideal in the summer.”

  She checked out the kitchen, since he didn’t seem interested in opening drawers and cupboards there. “It’s ultraclean. Which is good. But there isn’t a single plate or dish. No pans. Not even a single set of silverware.”

  “Dishes. Who wants dishes? The place has outlets. Lots of outlets.” He bounced back to his feet after examining the location of all the electrical plugs. “No sweat setting up a system here. And the windows are great. Lots of light.”

  She shook her head. There was lots of light because the windows were bald of any curtains or shades-but Garrett was happier than a kid at the circus. Who could fathom men? He was used to money. Big money. Nice things, conveniences. “Well, it wouldn’t take too much to make it at least livable. And it really is pretty nice for the price-”

  “Nice? Nice? I was prepared to pitch a tent. This is better than a dream.”

  The lunatic jogged over to her, making her laugh…until she saw something unexpected in his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t given in to a foolish, exuberant impulse in so long that he’d forgotten what it was like. She wasn’t absolutely positive he even knew he was going to kiss her.

  But she knew before he was halfway across the room. High-powered men had high-powered drives. Sometimes the release valve slipped open when it shouldn’t. And debutantes raised in Eastwick weren’t soft; they only looked that way. Emma knew what was happening, knew how to get out of a problem like this gracefully.

  And that was what she intended-to carefully duck away from him. But he swooped down on her with none of the finesse and skill and technique she remembered. He was just a guy high on life for that instant. Just a guy with a goofy smile on his face, swinging his girl around in a circle to make her squeal…just a little happiness letting loose, nothing dangerous, nothing wicked.

  The feeling of his long, strong arms wrapping around her triggered…something. A stillness deep inside her. She suddenly wasn’t laughing-or squealing. Instead her lips tilted up to meet his, as if that were the only choice she had. The only choice she’d ever had.

  Suddenly the only sound in the room was the sweet June wind whispering in the open window. He took her mouth as if he were desperate for the taste of her. She molded close, as if she were desperate to be held, not by someone, not by a man, but specifically, oh so specifically, by him. The taste of him created a fierce, strong pull deep in her belly.

  She lost her balance. He found it. She lost her senses, and he stole those, too, lifting his head, searching her eyes with one long, still moment…and then going back for another kiss. This time with the gloves off.

  Tongue found tongue. Teeth found teeth. His hands held her head still, then, impatient, pulled at the clip trapping her hair. Her hair spilled free, through his fingers. She wrapped her hands around his wrist, but it didn’t slow him down, didn’t stop him. Didn’t seem to stop her either.

  As if her breasts had never known a man, their tips tightened and hardened, yet she pressed closer. They both began a dance of intimacy-a dance without music yet so about rhythm, so about the sway of breast to muscle, of soft pelvis to turgid erection. The drift of her scent waltzed to the scent of his soap, his skin, him. Another dip, another kiss, and her heart picked up a faster rhythm now, as if he’d suddenly spun her into a tango until she couldn’t catch her breath. His breath, his kisses, the strength of his hips, pressed against hers, enticed her to move with him, to want him.

  Want.

  What a word for a woman who’d had no time for sex, who was impatient at the whole idea of how much importance everyone else put on sex. Who just wanted to live her life with passion for all the wonderful things life offered but not for passion.

  Okay, she kept telling herself. Okay. This is some kind of aberration. Ghosts aren’t real. Hallucinations aren’t real. He was terribly stressed, she figured. That was all this was really about. He’d always been a workaholic beyond all sanity, so then he’d come home and been terribly worried about his sister-and he’d never been a guy who tolerated frustration well.

  Yeah. That was it. He was just letting off steam with these kisses.

  Only she wasn’t. She didn’t have steam to let off. This…clinging to him. This wildly, fiercely kissing him back. This teasing him, rubbing against him…none of this made sense. It wasn’t her.

  This wasn’t sex. This was heart-altering. This wasn’t passion. It was touching at some other level. Down, down, down at the deep, sad loneliness level. Damn it, she hadn’t been lonely in all this time. She hadn’t.

  Yet he made her feel that way.

  As if she’d been alone since they’d last kissed as teenagers. As if she’d needed no one until this moment. As if she’d been coping fine-which she had, she had-until Garrett came home and took her mouth this way and made it all come crumbling down.

  She felt his hands soothing down her back, seducing with every rub, every caress. His mouth still took more kisses, took ownership of her senses. He spun her around, pressed her against a honey-pine wall. The rough pine felt good against her spine, a relief after that dangerous silk mouth of his. His hands roamed her arms now, then whispered between them, reaching for her blouse buttons.

  Her eyes shot open.

  He hadn’t felt her bare breasts yet. They hadn’t removed any clothes. But a couple minutes more of this, and Emma would have peeled down without his asking. Without any talk. Without her thinking even once of her fiancé.

  She broke away, slid out from under his arms, looked at him-stricken-and then shot out the door and down the stairs.

  Four

  At first the sky only dribbled down, but in a matter of minutes the rain turned into a flushing downpour. Emma flicked the windshield wipers on high, but they couldn’t keep up. The windows started to steam. Thankfully Reed’s place was only a few more miles, because she could barely see.

  Her nerves echoed the snap of lightning as she finally reached the sign for Rosedale Farms.

  She had to see her fiancé. Now. This afternoon.

  The embrace she’d shared with Garrett was still glued on her mind-and heart. It was wrong in every way to have kissed another man when she was engaged. And worse than that-much, much worse-was realizing she’d responded to Garrett more honestly and passionately th
an she’d ever responded to Reed.

  She’d assumed the old sizzle she’d once felt for Garrett was the stuff of young hormones and first love-the kind of thing a woman outgrew. She honestly didn’t know she had that kind of sexuality or sensuality in her. Didn’t know life even held that possibility for her. And she had no idea what all these feelings for Garrett meant, if anything. But right now wasn’t the time to deal with that.

  Right now what she absolutely had to deal with was facing Reed. There was no more denying that something was gravely, fundamentally wrong with their relationship. Maybe she’d realized before that they hardly had a grand passion for each other, but not that they were missing something critically elemental.

  Her whole world felt shaken. She kept telling herself that a few kisses from an old love shouldn’t have the power to upend her life. But reality was more that seeing Garrett again had forced open old, carefully locked emotional doors. She’d never meant to lie to herself, but it seemed she had.

  Anxiety thrummed in her pulse. She’d never deliberately run from trouble or responsibility. Her mother had taught her that. Her mom, for as long as Emma could remember, had sneaked little nips all through the day “just to take the edge off.” Emma remembered her childhood as nonstop tiptoeing, trying to be quiet for her mother, trying not to give her mom yet another reason to take one of those infernal nips. So no, Emma was a long way from perfect. She did things wrong, made mistakes, sometimes bad mistakes.

  But at least she didn’t run.

  Yeah, right, she thought wryly as she braked in front of the stables. Her heart was thumping louder than thunder. Everywhere she looked there were tons of vehicles-the big house always had a bunch of cars parked outside, and this afternoon, with the rain, the barns and stables had pickups of all sizes and shapes lined up like a parking lot.