Ben's Wife

by Charlotte Douglas

  He struggled back to the Chevy, and bursts of red exploded behind his eyes. He stumbled to the passenger door.

  “Twisted ankle or not,” he said between clenched teeth, “you have to drive.”

  But before she could shift behind the wheel, he blacked out in her arms.

  MORGAN CRADLED Josh’s hand in hers.

  Dust motes danced in the early morning sun slanting across his bed, the second sunrise since he had passed out on the front seat of the car. Scratches from his headlong rush through the woods crisscrossed his face, and a long-sleeved sweatshirt concealed his bandaged chest.

  The assassin at the airport had injured Josh worse than she had guessed, and, according to the doctor, carrying her to safety again had reopened his injury.

  The cool pressure of his fingers around hers signaled his awakening, and his eyes, clear and totally aware for the first time since his collapse, regarded her.

  “Welcome back.” Her joy flared like a rocket.

  He furrowed his brow. “Where am I?”

  “You’re home. We’re both safe now, thanks to you.”

  “Home?”

  “At your cottage.”

  His puzzlement deepened. “How—”

  “Harper carried you to bed. When you blacked out, I drove straight to Ben’s.”

  His brown eyes widened with alarm, and he raised himself on his elbows, as if to climb out of bed.

  “Don’t worry.” She nudged him back against the pillow, then smoothed the covers to hide her longing to touch him again. “Nobody followed. While Ben called the doctor, Harper drove us here and brought you inside.”

  “Where’s the car?”

  “Hidden in the garage. At night I’ve kept the curtains drawn and used only dim lights. From outside, the place still looks deserted.”

  Despite her protests, he shoved himself upright. “How long have I been lying here?”

  Not long enough. “Since night before last.”

  He aligned his handsome mouth into a grim scowl. “That long?”

  She nodded. “But only because I gave you sleeping pills with your antibiotics, at Dr. Hendrix’s instructions.”

  “You drugged me?”

  “He said it was either drugs or tie you to the bed.” She raised her brows and tried to appear blameless. “He also says you’re either more stubborn than an ox or else believe you’re immortal. Where do you suppose he gets that idea?”

  “Tom has a dictator complex,” Josh grumbled.

  Her innocent look faded. “You should be grateful he makes house calls. Ben insisted a hospital was out of the question, and no one but Dr. Tom be allowed here.”

  “Ben suffers from a dictator complex, too.” A reluctant smile accompanied his griping. “How is Ben?”

  “Dr. Hendrix demanded he stay in bed, so Ben relays messages to me through Harper.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at home with your husband?”

  She rationalized her guilt away. “He has Harper and Mrs. Denny to take care of him. You needed a nurse, so I volunteered.”

  “But your ankle?” His gaze flickered down her legs, fully exposed by her denim shorts.

  Her pulse revved at the concern in his voice and the heat in his glance. “It’s better. Dr. Hendrix wrapped it in an elastic bandage, and I’ve stayed off it as much as possible.”

  Josh lay back and closed his eyes, as if drifting back to sleep. When he opened them again, remorse had turned them almost black. “And Jim Dexter?”

  “He’s in serious condition, but Tom’s confident he’ll recover without permanent injuries.”

  “Did Lashner’s men cause the accident?”

  Lashner had them all suspicious of their own shadows. She, too, had feared Lashner’s involvement until the doctor shared the details from the hospital report. “A drunk tried to pass a slow-moving car against approaching traffic. When he swerved to avoid an oncoming car, he hit Jim’s, parked on the shoulder.”

  “What about—”

  “No more questions,” she said firmly, noting the shadows beneath his eyes and the white edge to his lips. “Rest, and I’ll fix your breakfast.”

  His eyebrows soared. “You went shopping?”

  “Of course not. Ben had Mrs. Denny bring us groceries. She even packed my clothes and sent them over. Ben’s taken care of everything.”

  “Not everything,” he mumbled beneath his breath as she headed to the kitchen.

  After feeding Josh the doctor’s prescribed poached eggs, toast and tea, which she fortified with half a sleeping pill, she washed dishes in the sunny kitchen.

  During her long bedside vigil, she’d had plenty of time for reflection. When Josh had kissed her on the beach, something sealed away far too long had broken free. His heat had kicked through her in a series of mind-numbing explosions, blasting the barricades of her desire. In that too-brief moment, she had sensed his matching response, but once he pulled away, his subsequent behavior, first flippant, then distant, had left her confused.

  She pushed back her hair with the heel of a soapy hand and stared unseeing out the window above the sink. Had Josh been merely toying with her, or had he pulled away because she was Ben’s wife?

  Whatever the answer, something drew her with overpowering compulsion to the mysterious man asleep in the next room. Was it gratitude? Twice, not counting the diner incident, and at great personal risk, he had rescued her from disaster.

  For which Ben was paying him handsomely.

  Her heavy sigh scattered the soap bubbles in the sink. She shouldn’t misinterpret Josh’s dedication to his work as caring for her.

  Rinsing the last of the dishes, she ranked her priorities. Number one was to assure that Lashner was caught. But in order to snare Lashner, she didn’t have to work with Josh. Ben had a surplus of contacts and resources. He could easily find another investigator.

  One who didn’t make her spirit soar with delight or her blood run scalding when she saw him.

  One who didn’t hide secrets behind his toofascinating eyes.

  One who wouldn’t break her heart when the job was done.

  By the time she’d put away the last dish, her mind was made up. As soon as Josh was well enough to be left alone, she would return to Ben and demand he take Josh off the case.

  WHEN JOSH AWAKENED for the second time that day, Morgan was sleeping in the big chair beside the bed. Her hair, the color of sunlit champagne, curled against the smoothness of pink-kissed cheeks. She frowned slightly, furrowing the skin between her brows and pursing delectable lips, as if dreaming bad dreams.

  Bad dreams?

  Nightmares, more likely, after what he’d put her through. And all for nothing. They were no closer to proving Lashner killed Frank than the day they started.

  He shifted tentatively and braced for stabbing pain, but the wound in his chest pinched with only slight discomfort. He owed a debt of thanks to Tom Hendrix.

  And especially to the woman in the chair beside him. Afternoon light filtered through the bedroom doorway behind her and shimmered like a halo around her silky hair.

  She looked like an angel.

  An angel who didn’t deserve what Lashner had done to her, who didn’t deserve what Josh had put her through. The greatest kindness he could show her was to catch her father’s killer and get out of her life.

  Forever.

  His logic gored him with an agony more savage than any chest injury.

  As if sensing his distress, she opened her eyes. Her slow, sweet smile only increased his torment.

  “You’re looking better,” she said.

  So are you. By the minute, he thought. “Sleep is a great healer. You drugged me again, didn’t you?”

  “Would you have stayed in bed if I hadn’t?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Her smile expanded. “I rest my case.”

  “While you’re holding me prisoner, maybe you can tell me what happened on the highway the other night before I arrived.”

  Her smile
faded, and she folded her slender legs beneath her and crossed her arms, as if safeguarding herself from the memory. “After the two cars forced the Lexus into the ditch, I was trapped.”

  His heart constricted at the residual terror mirrored in her eyes. “I’ll never forgive myself for leaving you alone.”

  She threw him a puzzled look. “You had arranged for backup. It wasn’t your fault Jim’s car was hit.”

  “I’m the fool who flooded my car,” he said with a scowl, “or I’d have been there when you needed me.”

  Her sky blue eyes harbored no blame. “Maybe things worked out for the best.”

  He snorted. “That’s carrying optimism a bit far.”

  “Lashner had at least four men after me. Without Jim to help you, we both might have ended up dead.”

  “You escaped four men?” His admiration warred with delayed alarm.

  She scrunched her face in a self-deprecating smile. “I can’t credit skill or cunning. Just pure, unadulterated panic. At first, just one man jumped out of the dark sedan. When he threatened to kill me if I didn’t go with him, I opened my car door.”

  Determination riveted through him. Before, his sole target had been Lashner. The hired thugs were only that scoundrel’s means to an end. But one of them had frightened Morgan within an inch of her life, and that guy would pay, if Josh had to track him to the ends of the earth.

  “I knew he was planning to kill me,” she continued, “so I did what you told me. When he grabbed my arm, I blasted him with pepper spray.”

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “His face was covered with a ski mask, so I aimed straight for his eyes and blinded him. Then the driver of the sedan came after me, but I sprayed him before he could draw his gun.”

  One small canister, almost an afterthought, had saved her. Josh collapsed against the pillows, overwhelmed with might-have-beens.

  “And the other men?” he asked.

  She hugged herself tighter but didn’t stop shivering. “Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. With two men writhing on the ground, the pair in the van jumped out, guns drawn. When I took off running, I heard a truck approaching, downshifting. I plowed through the ditch into the woods, and I didn’t stop until I twisted my ankle. In the dark, with my eyes watering from the pepper spray, I had tripped over a half-buried log.”

  “Those truckers were a godsend,” he said. “When they stopped at what they thought was an accident, they scared your attackers away.”

  He wouldn’t frighten her further by discussing what might have happened if the truckers hadn’t arrived. Besides, she was a sharp lady. She already knew.

  “I expected Lashner’s men to follow,” she said. “I didn’t know where you were, so I kept talking into the mike, hoping you’d hear and find me before they did.”

  Anger boiled over him in a red-hot wave, at himself for placing her in danger, at Robert Lashner for his greed and ruthlessness, at the assassins who would have killed her without hesitation if she hadn’t run.

  “Josh?” She hopped from her chair, leaned over him and pressed the smooth, cool skin of her wrist against his forehead. “You look feverish.”

  At her touch, his anger transformed to desire, an overpowering need to hold her, to feel the warmth of her flesh, the pulse of her heart, the sweetness of her breath.

  Except for a quirk of fate, her precious life might have been snuffed out by an indifferent killer. He craved reassurance that she lived and breathed, in spite of what he’d put her through.

  He reached out, twined his arms around her waist and pulled her onto the bed beside him.

  Resisting, she braced her hands against his shoulders. “Josh, your wound—”

  “To hell with it”

  “I can’t. I’m Ben’s—”

  “To hell with Ben.” He clasped the back of her head and drew her closer until his lips touched hers. “I almost lost you.”

  “But you didn’t.” Her lips moved against his, and her resistance ebbed. “I’m perfectly okay.”

  Tugging her nearer, until she lay against him, he groaned with longing. “Morgan, you are not okay.”

  “What?” She struggled in his arms.

  “You are perfection.”

  “Oh, Josh.” She ceased resisting and surrendered to his kiss.

  His mouth devoured her, tasted her sweetness, incited her response. She wrapped her arms around his neck and yielded to him, opening her mouth to his kiss. Low murmurs of desire issued from the back of her throat as he skimmed the soft curves of her shoulders, ran his hands beneath her shirt and cupped her firm breasts.

  She arched beneath his touch.

  With a smooth movement that caused only a small pain in his chest, he drew her on top of him until the length of their bodies joined. Her supple thighs pressed against the undeniable hardness of his arousal.

  He broke from the kiss and cradled her face in his hands. Her blue eyes, glazed with passion, met his.

  “Morgan, let me love you.”

  Chapter Nine

  “You have to fire Josh.” There, she’d said it. Morgan clasped her hands behind her to stop their shaking.

  Ben’s head snapped up at her words, but he said nothing.

  Thankful his dark glasses absolved her from looking him in the eye, Morgan paced his enormous living room.

  Hours ago she had fled Josh’s cottage, horrified she had come within a heartbeat of succumbing to his tempting invitation. Her cheeks flushed with the memory, and she drowned desire with anger. Any man with that much energy no longer needed nursing care. If anything, he needed his brakes relined. Had her common sense not taken charge, where would she be now?

  In his arms. In his bed.

  She blocked the enticing picture from her mind.

  When she had called Harper to come for her at the cottage, she intended to confront Ben as soon as she arrived at his home, but both the valet and Mrs. Denny had insisted their employer not be disturbed until he awakened from his afternoon rest.

  For three interminable hours, she had waited, stoking the flames of her anger and strengthening her resolve by cataloging Josh’s faults.

  “Fire Josh?” Ben flipped the toggle on his motorized chair and rolled toward her, cutting her off in the far corner of the room and ending her pacing. “You’re not serious?”

  She backed into an easy chair and sat, ankles crossed primly, hands folded in her lap. Earlier, as soon as she reached her room, she had stripped off the clothes that tortured her with Josh’s scent and showered away the heat of his caresses.

  “I’m deadly serious,” she said.

  “Why should I fire him? He’s the best investigator I have.” The gentle calmness of Ben’s voice contrasted sharply with the harsh agitation in her own.

  She numbered her accusations on her fingers. “First, he’s accomplished nothing in all this time. He’s found no evidence against Lashner.”

  Ben sat without moving. “Go on.”

  “His last scheme almost got me killed.” Righteous indignation stiffened her spine.

  “But he also rescued you. That’s the second time he’s saved your life.” Ben adjusted his oxygen mask. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “I suppose.” Antagonism wasn’t producing the desired results, so she relaxed her posture and softened her voice. “He’s also not well. He suffered a serious knife wound when he confronted Lashner’s man at the airport. Dr. Hendrix said he should be resting, not working.”

  “I’m sure Josh will be touched by your concern.” Even Ben’s bandages couldn’t conceal his wry smile.

  “You’re not going to tell him what I’ve said?” If he did, it wouldn’t matter. She wanted Josh out of her life.

  “You’ve given me three reasons. Anything else?”

  I’m your wife. I care about you, and I’m falling in love with him, she screamed inside. When I’m with him, I can’t think straight, and my heart and body have wills of their own. I can’t risk lovin
g a man I know nothing about.

  She squelched her internal clamor. “No, that’s all.”

  “You look flushed.” Ben wheeled closer and rested his bandaged hand on hers. “Are you ill?”

  “No,” she lied, sick at heart, her pulse still galloping at the memory of Josh, stroking her face, her shoulders, her breasts, his body fused to hers.

  Ben withdrew his hand, and she fidgeted beneath his silent scrutiny, intense even through the filter of his glasses.

  “You would tell me,” he asked, “if Josh has offended you in some way?”

  “Offended?” She jerked her chin up, and her mouth gaped.

  Did Ben know?

  “Has Josh done something to upset you?” he asked.

  She stared at the Aubusson rug, wishing it would open at her feet and swallow her whole. Ben had been thoughtful and more than kind.

  He had trusted her.

  And her uncontrollable response to Josh had betrayed that trust.

  She regarded Ben too highly to lie to him, so she simply ignored his question. “Josh should be fired for the reasons I’ve given.” She tried but failed to rekindle her former fury. “Otherwise, Lashner will never pay for murdering my father.”

  “Convicting Lashner is exactly why I must retain Josh,” he said. “There is no one I trust more.”

  Trust Josh? A man with dark secrets lurking in his eyes, a man willing to make love to another man’s wife? His friend’s wife? Ben obviously didn’t know Josh as well as she did.

  She bit back an ironic reply. “Why do you trust him?”

  Ben sat quietly, as if contemplating her question. His composed certitude, his refusal to be rattled by uncontrollable circumstances, and his extravagant regard for her welfare produced an island of serenity, even in the midst of the chaos that had begun with her father’s murder.

  She longed to claim that peacefulness as her own. Avoiding Josh and the warring emotions he generated would be a good start.

  “I trust Josh,” Ben said, “because I understand him. He and I are a great deal alike.”

  The absurdity of his statement stole her breath away. “You’re not anything like—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Wells.” Harper appeared at the door to the foyer and interrupted her chance for rebuttal. “Mr. Appel is at the gate and wishes to speak with you. He says the matter is most urgent.”