Unwrap Me Daddy

by Natasha Spencer

  Delicious nibbling, from top to bottom and back again. Fingers curved, fingers spread, fingers inserted. For everything he took, she gave; for everything he gave, she took. There was the melding of skin against skin: hers soft and smooth as creamery butter, his muscular and bunched with hair. She sighed, she moaned, she begged for more. He crooned, he gentled, he tried to hold back.

  Ben cupped the mound of her left breast while he suckled from the right. Caroline captured the whole of his erection and stroked every magnificent inch.

  And finally, finally, he took her, in the age-old rhythm that never tired.

  He was right.

  During their wedding weekend, the sex was tentative at first; a way for two human beings to find out about each other; a time of exploration and possible bonding. At their second encounter, that fateful afternoon under the tree, the sex had been dissolute, abandoned, and insanely arousing; no foreplay, only fornication—the work of a libertine and a trollop.

  But, this. This came close to the concept of actually making love; and when they finished at last, in a few drawn-out moments of spinning toward heaven, and slowly coming back down to earth, both felt a bit of surprise.

  Some time later, Ben was lying on his back, halfway dozing, with Caroline cradled in one arm and her head on his shoulder.

  “Ben,” she said quietly.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ben, is it okay if I fire Mrs. Wyeth?”

  It was so far from what he was expecting that he almost fell off the bed. Instead, brows raised, he turned slightly to face her. “Fire Mrs. Wyeth? Why would you? She’s been here a long time, and I thought she was doing a fine job.”

  Her hand was dallying on his chest, doing funny things to both nipples, curling and uncurling the silky hair. If she didn’t watch out, she could expect to be tumbled again, soon. Certain vital components were already beginning to show interest.

  “We’re having a little trouble with—uh—adjustment.”

  “Huh. I can’t say that I’ve ever had any problems with her. Won’t you be able to work it out?”

  Caroline seriously considered the question. “I don’t know, Ben. She’s taken such a strong dislike to me that I’m not sure she’s willing to save her job just to keep me around.”

  “Won’t bend at all, huh? In that case, I’m surprised she hasn’t put a spot of arsenic in your stew.”

  Naked, with just the sheet tucked up to her waist, she started to laugh, with the expected result. Every burst sent her breasts jiggling, and that drew his immediate attention. With a salacious satyr’s smile, he covered one with a big hand and squeezed.

  “Hey, Benjamin, be careful. If you hadn’t left bruises all over my body…”

  “Mmmm. Bruises, huh? Let me just kiss ’em, and make ’em well…”

  “No, I’m serious. Now, listen to me, because—Ben, I mean it. I want to know what to do about your cook.”

  Sighing, he released his grip. “Our cook, Carrie. What d’ you want to do?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. She’s accusing me of all sorts of things, and I’m not sure she even wants to stay, with me here. Seriously. I just want your permission to do anything that’s necessary.”

  “Of course. How many times do I have to tell you that the house is yours? Just keep it standing in one piece, will you?”

  “All right. Thank you.” Silence for a few moments, while the bedside clock ticked away the seconds and Ben let out a mighty yawn. “Why were you so late getting back tonight?”

  “Late? Oh. Change of plans from San Antonio stop to one in Albuquerque. And then we got a thunderstorm, had to lay low for a while.”

  “I see.”

  Another yawn, as he slipped lower onto the pillow and his eyes closed. “All right, I admit, I probably should’ve called to let you know. But you were aware of the rules going in, Carrie. This is not a typical marriage, and I don’t have to answer to anyone. Besides, it was already so late I figured you’d be asleep. Which is where I plan to be in about ten minutes.”

  The hurt stabbed so deeply, so sharply, that she thought surely blood must be dripping from the wound it had caused. She almost curled up around it, this grievous injury straight to the gut, and only barely managed to suppress a sob of pure pain. How could she have forgotten the rules she was supposed to live by, as a mail order bride? How could she be so blind and dumb to the type of person Ben Taggart actually was: a cold, selfish, insensitive autocrat who lived only for business and sex?

  Pulling slightly away, to more easily hide her woes beneath these exquisite sheets, Caroline, at a distance of several inches from the warm body which had so encapsulated hers, whispered, “Ben?”

  He groaned and flung one arm across his face. “Just about driftin’ off here, Carrie. What is it?”

  “Ben. How many women’s files and photographs did you look over before—before you chose—me?”

  “Hell, I dunno. A lot.”

  “And what was your—criteria?”

  “Aw, Carrie, d’ you have to go into this now? For God’s sake, it’s almost four o’clock in the morning. I have to be at—”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I want to know now.”

  Another heavy sigh that lifted the hard naked chest. “I wanted a woman who was reasonably attractive and intelligent, who could run my house and take care of my daughter. I already told you that.”

  “But why mail order? You’re a—” Much as she hated to speak the words, she swallowed hard and spat them out, “You’re a fine chunk of man. Surely in your business dealings, even in your own world right here around the ranch, there were plenty of women just dying to be part of your life. Why me, in particular?”

  Suddenly he reared up on a surge of very real anger—a sign, she realized much later, that her probing had struck a nerve. Turned to confront her, as some antagonist across a dueling plain, the face that had just a little while before been soft with tenderness was now set in lines of resentment.

  “Because I didn’t want any complications! I didn’t want any questions! I wanted a woman who would leave me alone to do as I wanted, no strings attached, and that woman looked and sounded like what I’d get in you. I basically just wanted a housekeeper with sexual benefits!”

  Leave him alone, to do as he wanted. Like a selfish child, with no responsibilities to anyone’s wishes or needs but his own.

  Caroline had thought the hurt couldn’t go any deeper. She was wrong. This one was mortal.

  “There, are you satisfied? Now, for God’s sake, turn off the light and let me sleep!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Carrie, Carrie, you oughta see what I taught Jasper to do! Carrie!”

  The child’s voice and the pound of her running steps brought Sophie tearing down the long hall to Caroline’s room. Roughly awakened from her position face-down on the bed, she raised a tousled head from the pillow just as Sophie erupted through the door.

  “Carrie, Carrie, wait till you—oh.” She skidded to a stop, with the puppy right behind her, and paused on the threshold to ask in a tentative voice, “Uh. Daddy—?”

  “Uh-huh.” Rolling over, Ben cleared his throat of morning fog and made sure that every inch of incriminating bare flesh was covered by the sheet before addressing his daughter. “Yeah, puddin’. And hello to you, too.”

  “Daddy?” Blue eyes huge, dimples shut down, she was still feeling hesitant and uncertain. “Daddy, how’s come you’re in Carrie’s room?”

  “Well—uh—well…“

  Perhaps his brain circuits couldn’t rewire themselves enough on three hours of sleep to think up a feasible answer. Perhaps he was still in too much of a haze to think clearly. Or perhaps he was just completely stumped.

  Reluctantly, Caroline came to his rescue. “Honey, mommies and daddies often share a bed. You’re just not used to it, because your daddy has been away from home, traveling so much.”

  “Oh.” Sophie considered that, while the puppy, anxious for more play, nipped at
her heels. Then, in the manner of almost seven-year-olds, she put it aside to think about later. “Okay. But I still wanna show you what Jasper can do. Are you gettin’ up soon?”

  “Yes, Sophie; very soon. We’ll be down shortly. Is that all right?”

  “Sure.” At the doorway, she paused again, a brave little girl who had dressed herself in a blue shirt printed with unicorns and a pair of neon green shorts. “Carrie?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you and Daddy are in bed together, does that mean I should call you Mommy?”

  Caroline choked. With tears filling her eyes and threatening to fall, she managed to nod. “Yes, Sophie. You can call me Mommy. But only if you want to.”

  “Yeah. I would.” Her world righted, she raced away, and the dog with her. Inseparable companions. At least she closed the door behind her.

  “Well, just cry about it, why don’t you?” Ben said, with one of his rare non-mischievous smiles. More of a bland, let’s-see-where-this-goes speculative tilt of the lips.

  She sniffled a little. “I can’t help it. That was just—sweet. So sweet. You are unbelievably lucky, Benjamin Taggart, with that daughter of yours.”

  “And don’t I know it.” His voice was husky, and his eyes clouded with notions only suited for the bed they occupied. “Looks to me like you’ve been completely accepted. Sophie seems to be all prepared for you to be her mama.”

  Nodding, she started to push away the covers. Immediately Ben, catching a flash of her bare bottom, began to protest.

  “Hey, where are you goin’?”

  “To shower and dress, of course. Sophie is waiting.”

  “So am I.” Leaning on one elbow amongst a pile of disheveled sheets, with the seductive lazy grin that always got him his way, he waggled his brows at her and pointed downward. “Got somethin’ right here for you.”

  Caroline was suddenly flooded by memory of his last hurtful words to her, just a few hours ago, and the silent weeping she had done until exhaustion had finally claimed her. Her bedroom, her lovely, pristine, blue-and-white bedroom, had now lost all semblance of a refuge, thanks to the presence of this—this man. She couldn’t even escape here to shed her tears and nurse her aching heart, because a great galumphing brute of a male had taken over, to lie sprawled and slumbering upon her king-sized mattress.

  No. She was not about to let him off the hook so easily. Arranged marriage or not, he had a lot to make up for before using her so cavalierly again.

  “I’m sure it’ll keep,” she sniffed, and turned away.

  “Aw, c’mon, Carrie. Have you forgotten our agreement? The one you signed?”

  Halting short, she wrapped herself in the thin nightgown and her dignity. “No,” she said quietly. “I hadn’t forgotten.”

  “Here.” He had flung back the sheet to reveal a pose of perfect nudity, from disheveled Greek god head to well-shaped bare feet, and all the stirring, lively parts in between. “Aren’t you the least bit interested?”

  She looked on, unmoved. “Don’t you have a property to foreclose on, or a company to put out of business, or something?”

  “Caroline. I am crushed. I am absolute crushed, that you would even—”

  Too late. She was already gone, and the click of the bathroom door lock followed her disappearance. A lock to which he had no key.

  Chapter Twenty

  The atmosphere in and around the Ten Buck country house was not conducive to camaraderie. Or even sociality. In fact, it was downright glacial.

  And Ben was annoyed.

  He had taken great pains to arrange, through Marilou’s efficient management, a marriage that was supposed to operate on greased wheels. Daily schedules were supposed to run along smoothly, without a hitch. Personalities were supposed to mesh as fine as frog’s hair. His wife was supposed to be amenable to his every wish: her mood compliant, her attitude easy-going, her character above reproach.

  Well, yeah. He’d give her that last one. But she wasn’t supposed to get upset over the slightest thing he said or did contrary to what she’d expected; she wasn’t supposed to get all bent out of shape because he was simply being himself. She should just accept the fact that he was a very particular individual, God damn it, and what he wanted took precedence over all else. This wasn’t supposed to be the usual marriage. It was supposed to be managed on his terms.

  Supposed to be. Supposed to be.

  He knew Carrie was hurt, for whatever reason she’d gotten into her head. He knew she was pissed, for whatever other reason. This was precisely why he’d wanted a bloodless, unconventional union, so they could avoid these pitfalls. God knew, life was a lot more pleasant without pitfalls.

  And, without pitfall, he could go into his office every day, or visit ports of his far-flung empire, without feeling guilt or remorse about what was brewing on the home front. He could just work.

  He didn’t think he had to be the one to make amends. Not when Caroline was turning a cold shoulder to his words and a cold front to his knock at her bedroom door.

  Why in bloody Hades hadn’t someone talked him out of this whole crazy mail order bride idea?

  Best scenario, with all this going on? Get the hell out of Dodge.

  This time, Ben wasn’t considerate enough to hand over his itinerary in person. His driver picked him up very early one morning, only a few days after the single night he had spent in his wife’s bed, and Marilou had apologetically handed over the list to Caroline some hours later.

  “My, that’s an impressive number of miles he plans to rack up,” Caroline said calmly, looking over the pages of information in her hand. “I see he plans to be gone at least a week.”

  “Yes, he scheduled—I mean, a number of meetings were scheduled that he felt he had to attend. Some shareholders’ groups, a few corporate dinners, that sort of thing.” Marilou, whose own love life with the agreeable Jimmy seemed to be going so well, eyed her boss’s wife with sympathy.

  “Carrie—”

  Equable, refusing to be affected, she looked up. “Yes?”

  “Ben—Mr. Taggart—well, he sometimes gets these hair-brained ideas…I mean, you can’t really follow his reasonin’, but…” Marilou, who felt some odd compulsion to defend her boss to the wife he had so uncaringly left behind, heard her voice trail off. “Well, you know men.”

  “No, Marilou,” said Caroline coolly. “I’m afraid I don’t know men. Especially this one. But I thank you for your concern.”

  “Carrie, you wanna go t’ supper sometime, just you and me?” the secretary asked impulsively. “A girls’ night out.”

  A small smile in return. Would it be absolutely proper for a mere office employee and Mrs. Mogul to socialize? Well, why not? Caroline realized she didn’t care what the mores might be here in Texas hill country. She would by God set her own rules. And look who had given her the freedom to do so, and fired up the spark of rebellion in her soul—Mr. Mogul.

  “I’d like that, Marilou. Let me just check around about babysitting availability, so Sophie won’t be left alone. Right now I have to go sack the cook.”

  Mrs. Wyeth’s frosty attitude toward Caroline had not improved since taking her “sick day.” In fact, it had deteriorated so badly that she either responded to her employer’s comments with a sneer, or not at all. Dissension in the ranks! Had she felt such incredible loyalty to the first Mrs. Taggart that she refused to see anyone in her place, even though the woman had been gone for some six years?

  It was a strange thing. No one in the house ever spoke of her. If not for Lila Sampson filling in some of the missing background puzzle pieces, Caroline would have no information at all. What was there about Diane Taggart that everyone was keeping a secret?

  Caroline had no answers. Nor had she any experience in dealing with hired help. And, thus far, the cook had refused to sit down and talk with her, so that they could try resolving their differences.

  She could hear a vacuum humming away upstairs, which meant Maria was already busy with her house
hold chores. Esperanza, who worked only part-time, was gone for the day. That meant that Mrs. Wyeth would be alone in the kitchen. Probably preparing some exotic meal for dinner that would be far too rich and heavy for anyone’s palate.

  “Mrs. Wyeth?”

  Sure enough, she was stirring something in a pot on the stainless steel range. Something? Or someone? Slowly she turned. Did the woman’s expression ever lighten?

  “May I have a few words with you?”

  Inclining her head, she simply stood still in her bovine pose, hands folded together, and waited.

  “Here. Come, sit down, please.”

  With that much, at least, the cook felt uncomfortable. “Miss Fi—Mrs. Taggart—”

  “It’s all right.” Caroline mustered up a thin smile. “Join me.”

  As soon as she had reluctantly taken a seat at the sparkling kitchen table, Caroline moved her chair aside to fetch the coffee pot and two cups, a sugar bowl, the creamer, and spoons. Mrs. Wyeth’s face registered a mixture of shock and disapproval. “You needn’t go waitin’ on me.”

  “Why not? You wait on me often enough.” She paused for a few minutes, until her employee was tentatively sipping at the rich dark brew before announcing, “Mrs. Wyeth, I have to let you go.”

  The cook choked and barely managed to swallow her mouthful of Kenya’s finest. “What!”

  “Yes. I cannot have you undermining my authority, or causing problems in the household. Or, worse, disrupting Sophie’s routine. You must see that your attitude is to blame for whatever has gone wrong between us.”

  Brave words; cool, calm, and collected words, as befits an employer to employee, especially one behaving badly. But Caroline was quaking inside. Earlier confrontations had simply not prepared her for this direct, one-on-one opposition, and she had both dreaded the moment and longed to have it over. But it must be done.

  “How soon do you want me to leave?” Her mouth was set hard. Yet her chin—both of them— trembled. Perhaps she wasn’t so much of a termagant as imagined. Perhaps she could be saved.