Wife Is A 4-Letter Word

by Stephanie Bond

  Enrico’s expression was black as he stared at Pam. “I thought the two of you were already married!” Pam looked at Alan. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

  “Married?” Robin yelped, jerking his attention back to her. “I thought she was your sister!”

  “Sister?” Lila shrieked, and he swung his head back to see the older woman’s face twisted in distaste. “That’s disgusting.”

  Cheek appeared slightly less distraught. “Well, it’s illegal anyway.”

  Everyone started talking at once, and Robin advanced on him, her eyes narrowed, and her steps wobbly. “Alan, what the hell is going on?”

  Alan held up his hands. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute!” The group quieted. He took a deep breath and a step backward, then fell over a potted fern, landing on his tailbone hard enough to set his glasses askew. The waiter hurried over to help him up, but Alan, clawing the air in frustration, brushed him off. He scrambled to his feet, straightened his clothes, then made chopping motions in the air to punctuate his point.

  “Look...you...you people! Pamela and I came to have a nice, quiet Valentine’s Day dinner.” He felt a vein bulging at his temple. “The nature of our relationship is nobody’s business!” He yanked up his pants by his sagging waistband. “Now, I’ll thank everyone to move along!”

  Lila and Cheek were the first to bustle away, then Robin and Enrico slipped off in the same direction. Alan had the brief thought that the two of them should get together, then he looked at Pam and swept an arm awkwardly toward the table. “Shall we?”

  She nodded, then stooped and picked up his wayward button. She handed it to him, then moved stiffly to her place at the table. After pulling out her chair, Alan reclaimed his seat, snapping the napkin before settling it over his lap. For several long minutes, they toyed with their wineglasses and fingered the silverware.

  Although he couldn’t fathom why, Alan felt as if he owed Pam an explanation. When he could stand the silence no longer, he cleared his throat. “I wasn’t kissing her, you know.”

  “Not that it matters,” she said, sipping the wine that had been served in her absence. “But the lipstick on your mouth, nose, ear and eyelid proves otherwise.”

  He swiped the napkin across his face, frowning at the reddish stain that transferred. “I mean I wasn’t kissing her back.”

  “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

  “I guess not,” he conceded with a wave, “since you were skulking in the hall with your Latin lover.”

  She frowned. “My lover? Where on earth did you get that idea?”

  His heart lifted a notch. “You haven’t been messing around with him?”

  Pam rolled her eyes. “If I wanted to mess around with him, why would I have told him you and I were married?” Unexplained relief flooded through him. “And he believed it?”

  “Crazy, huh?” she asked with a little laugh. “That someone would think we were husband and wife?”

  “Yeah,” he said, joining her laughter. “Ridiculous.”

  “I mean, you and me—” Pam’s giggles escalated.

  “Right,” he said, laughing harder. “Mr. and Mrs. Alan Parish.”

  She roared. “P-Pamela P-Parish!”

  Alan wiped his eyes and took a big gulp of wine. “The way the last couple of days have been going, I suppose anything seems possible.”

  “It’s been an adventure,” she agreed.

  He sighed and glanced across the table, struck anew by her glowing beauty. Pam looked like a movie star, her hair and skin wrought with gold, her mouth wide, her eyes shining. Her gaze met his and Alan’s ears started ringing. He felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, in danger of falling into a pit so deep he might never return. The notion skating through his mind, the emotion blooming in his chest was nothing short of insanity. He was falling for Pamela Kaminski.

  Pam’s smile evaporated and she squirmed in her chair. Looking into her glass, she said, “I was thinking about leaving tomorrow.”

  Alan stopped and choked on the wine in his throat. “Leaving? You mean, going back to Savannah?”

  She nodded.

  He experienced the panicky feeling that something wonderful was about to slip through his fingers. “B-but why?”

  Pam abandoned her glass and rolled her eyes heavenward, counting on her beautifully manicured fingers. “A bad flight, a flat tire, a dilapidated hotel, a powder blue limo, a police record...” Her voice trailed off. “You came to the beach for a week of R&R,” she said. “And so far it’s been more like a week of S&M.”

  “Well, it hasn’t been your fault,” he offered generously.

  But she simply smirked.

  “Not totally,” he added weakly.

  “Lying is not one of your talents.”

  Spotting an opening, he leaned forward with eyebrows raised. “Is that a concession that I have talents elsewhere?”

  “No.”

  Deflated, he sat back. “Oh.”

  Surprised at the wounded look on his face, Pam scrambled to soothe his hurt feelings. “I mean, I wouldn’t know if you had talents elsewhere...” She swallowed and searched for firmer footing. “It’s not like Jo and I ever discussed your, uh...anything.”

  He shifted in his seat. “Well, I should hope not.”

  “Oh, no,” she assured him hurriedly. “Jo and I never talked about what you and she did—or didn’t do.”

  Alan pursed his lips. “Didn’t do?”

  A flush burned her neck on its way up. “I didn’t say ‘didn’t.’”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Panic fluttered in her stomach. “Well, I didn’t mean ‘didn’t.’ I meant...oh, damn.”

  He closed his eyes and downed the rest of his wine. After setting his empty glass on the table with a thunk, he inhaled deeply. “So, Jo wasn’t happy with our sex life.”

  Pam shook her head. “She never said that.”

  He flagged the waiter for more wine, then gave her a dry laugh. “Well, I have to admit we didn’t exactly keep the sheets ablaze.”

  She held up her hands. “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “I can’t explain it. Jo is a beautiful woman, but when it came to—”

  Pam put her hands over her ears and started to hum, but she could still read his lips, and what she saw made her squeeze her eyes shut. “I’m not listening,” she sang. “I’m noooooooooooooot liiiiiissstennnnniiiiing. I’m noooooooooooooot liiiiiissstennnnniiiiing. I’m noooooooooooooot liiiiiissstennnnniiiiing.” When she opened her eyes, Alan sat staring at her, along with two waiters who stood by the table, their arms loaded with trays. She smiled sheepishly, straightened her napkin, then gestured for them to serve.

  During dinner, neither she nor Alan mentioned the subject of her returning to Savannah early. They talked about their respective jobs, mutual acquaintances and state politics. They talked about the Braves and the Hawks and the Falcons, one advantage of having sports-minded brothers, she noted. They laughed and argued and laughed some more, and Pam hated to see the pleasant meal come to an end.

  For dessert, they decided to split a rich, velvety cheesecake with cinnamon topping, which reminded Pam of the unused bottle of body liqueur in their room.

  She picked up her utensil and with every luscious bite, she imagined devouring him—biting, licking and swallowing him whole. She savored every succulent bite, allowing the sweetness to melt on her tongue before letting it slide down her throat. The more she ate, the more moist her flimsy panties grew until she nearly moaned aloud. At the sound of Alan’s chuckle, she glanced up, afraid she had. Instead, he was simply watching her.

  “Was it good?”

  “Wonderful,” she said, smiling to herself.

  “You’re killing me,” he said, shifting in his seat.

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Pam,” he said, leaning close and lowering his voice. “Do you always eat dessert with a knife?”

  With a start, she stared
at the huge, blunt dinner knife in her hand. She glanced up with a sheepish smile, enormously relieved to see the roving Italian musicians were approaching their table.

  The men were dressed in brilliant costumes of red, black and gold, with snow-white shirts. The violinist nodded to Alan and kissed Pam’s hand, then put his instrument to his shoulder and began to play a sweet, haunting melody, accompanied by the other musicians.

  It was almost too much for her—the great food, the good wine, the beautiful music...and Alan’s company. She glanced over at him and inhaled sharply at the desire she saw in his blue eyes. He abandoned his napkin, stood and swept his hand toward the tiny vacant area by their table. “May I have this dance?” Then he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Of course, I’ll have to hold you close to keep my pants up.”

  She grinned, then accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her into his arms for a slow waltz. He was a surprisingly good dancer, with natural rhythm and perfect form. It was a good thing he could lead, she decided with her chin resting on his shoulder, because she was too weak-kneed to do little more than follow. He smelled wonderfully spicy and she ached to taste the skin on his neck. He melded her body to his until she felt every muscle beneath his clothing. They might have been the.only two people in the universe. When the music ended, she sensed his reluctance to part was as strong as hers, but with an audience, they had little choice. While the other diners applauded, Alan raised her hand and kissed her fingertips.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered.

  Later, on the way back to the hotel, Pam was quiet, consumed by raging desire for the man next to her, yet lamenting the ramifications of her actions. Conversely, Alan seemed downright cheerful, whistling tunelessly under his breath and fidgeting with all the gadgets on the limousine panel until she was ready to scream. The walk from the parking lot to their door seemed interminably long to her.

  “Couldn’t get that room Linda had reserved, huh?” Pam said, laughing to hide her nervousness as she stepped through the door onto the familiar shag carpet.

  “Actually,” Alan said with a smile, “I told her I’d changed my mind since we only have two more nights. Want to go down to the beach for a walk?”

  Remembering the disastrous results of their last moonlit stroll, she shook her head.

  “How about the hot tub?” he asked.

  “I’m not fainthearted, Alan, but even I am not brave enough to climb into that algae-infested wading pool. Besides, Cheek might be in it, naked.”

  “Which could account for the algae,” he said. “Then let’s make our own hot tub.”

  She laughed. “What?”

  He gestured toward the bathroom. “That ridiculous tub in there—it’s plenty big enough if we fill it up with hot water.”

  Amazed at the change in his demeanor, she reached up and lifted his glasses. “Who are you and what have you done with Alan P.—the-‘P’-stands-for-tight-as-a-pin—Parish?”

  His mouth quirked to the side. “You better get your bathing suit before he comes back.”

  Pam looked into his blue eyes and studied his boyish face. He was so incredibly handsome...and had turned into such a surprise. Ignoring the warning flags that sprang up en masse at the periphery of her brain, she grinned and said, “I’ll meet you in the deep end.”

  She grabbed her suit, went into the bathroom, then turned on the hot water, unable to ignore the pounding of her heart. Biting her lip hard, she stared at herself in the mirror as she tucked her curves into the gold bikini that had sparked a light in Alan’s eyes at the department store. Beneath the harsh illumination of the bare bulb in the room, she looked raw and vulnerable. Her eyes stung from indecision. She wanted Alan so much her chest hurt. “If this is wrong,” she whispered, “send me a sign.”

  The bulb popped, then went dark with a sizzling sound.

  She stood in the dark for several seconds, then said, “I need to be really, really sure. Would you mind sending another sign?”

  “Pam?” Alan knocked lightly on the door. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Uh, no one,” she yelled. “The light went out.”

  His chuckle reverberated through the door. “I’ll get the Elvis candles you bought.”

  Pam looked heavenward. “I gave it my best shot.”

  He was back within a few seconds, wearing trunks and bearing matches. She placed “Love Me Tender” candles around the room strategically, growing increasingly alarmed at the romantic atmosphere they were creating. She lowered herself into the hot water just as Alan reappeared with a bottle. “Ta-dah!”

  “Champagne?”

  He uncorked the bottle, spilling foam on the pink tile. “Since I didn’t get a drop at the wedding reception, I gave Twiggy fifty bucks to find a bottle of my favorite. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Alan handed her a full glass, then stepped into the water, only to jump back out. “Good Lord, Pam! Are you cooking shrimp in there?”

  Already light-headed at the sight of the candlelight dancing on his sleek, muscled chest, she sipped the champagne and giggled as the bubbles went up her nose. “Ease in, Alan, you’ll get used to it.”

  He tried again, gasping and wincing, sending her into fits of laughter as he squatted into the water inch by inch. “It’s a good thing I don’t like kids,” he muttered as he settled in up to his armpits. “Because my sperm have been parboiled.”

  “Is that what the ‘P’ stands for?”

  “Cute, real cute.”

  “Is it ‘Parker’?”

  “No.”

  “Preston?”

  “No.”

  “Palmer?”

  “No! Enough already. Either turn on the cold water or the egg timer because I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

  Pam turned on the cold water to let it drip. “What’s the big deal about your middle name?” She started as his leg brushed against hers beneath the water.

  “It’s private,” he said with a smile. His leg brushed hers again, and she nearly groaned with the desire that welled within her. “Don’t you have something private, something you don’t share with everyone?”

  She manufactured a laugh. “Private? You forget who you’re talking to. My life has been public property in Savannah since I was sixteen. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the stories.”

  “I have,” he admitted, raking his gaze over her. “But I’m not sure how many of the stories are true and how many of them are pure fantasy on the part of the men who told them.”

  Her neck felt rubbery, so she laid her head back and looked at him through slitted eyelids. “Alan, have you ever fantasized about me?”

  His eyes widened and he cleared his throat, then drained his champagne glass. Pam’s skin tingled in anticipation.

  “I’ve always thought you were beautiful, Pam,” he said finally, moving lower in the water and settling his leg against the length of hers. “But I’ve never fantasized about you.”

  She pressed her lips together in disappointment He wasn’t attracted to her, after all. The sexual current she’d felt between them had been a figment of her teenage imagination, dating back to the time when she’d dreamed that Alan P. Parish would notice her, ask her out, take her to his fine home—

  “Until this week,” he added quietly.

  Pam lifted her head.

  “I know what you think of me, Pam—that I’m an automaton, a computer geek—”

  “A tight-ass,” she added with a smile.

  He smirked. “Thanks.” Then he moved closer, and set her glass aside with his. He floated inches over her in the water before lowering himself against her, setting the warm water into motion. “But I’m not a machine, Pam.”

  His face was only inches from hers, and she felt his breath fan her cheek. The water lapped around them, warming her skin, then falling away to leave her covered with goose bumps. Her nipples hardened. His proximity crowded her senses and she had never felt so close to losing control. “Are you sure? Because I—I can certainly feel
your hard drive.”

  “I want you.”

  Pam closed her eyes, trying to recall any shred of relief she had felt the morning after their near lapse on the beach, any rationalization that she shouldn’t be feeling like this. But now his hands on her obliterated all doubts, negated all concerns, neutralized all complications. And her hands moved of their own volition to the nape of her neck to loosen the ties of her bikini top. She allowed the water to float the material away from her breasts, and Alan crushed her against him, claiming her mouth in a plundering kiss.

  Pam raised her body to meet his and he clasped her urgently, squeezing her hips against his, whispering her name into her throat. After a thorough exploration of her mouth, he set aside his fogged glasses and drew back to view her breasts.

  “You are magnificent.” The sheer wonder in his voice sent waves of desire flooding her limbs. He dragged her breath from her lungs by pulling a puckered nipple into his mouth.

  “Oh, Alan.” She pushed her fingers through his hair and arched into him, urging him to take as much of her into his mouth as possible. His erection strained against her thigh, and she ran her hands down his neck, over his muscled back, and under the waistband of his trunks.

  Their moans echoed off the walls of the small room and Pam had never felt so aroused. The combination of the heated water, the candlelight and the man were incredibly erotic. Every nerve ending, every muscle, every sense burned and throbbed with raw desire and she raked her hands over his body. His name emerged from her throat over and over, as if some part of her suspected their time together was short and she wanted to experience as much of him as possible.

  He devoured her, drawing on her breasts one at a time, rolling her sensitized nipples between his finger and thumb. His hands skated over her body, assuming the rhythm of the water until their movements became so frenzied, the now-lukewarm water splashed over the edges and onto the tile.

  Alan felt his body growing more engorged, yearning for release. The feelings she had unleashed in him were so staggering, he prayed he could maintain control long enough to please her. “Let’s go to bed,” he said thickly against her neck and she moaned her agreement.