Stand-In Wife: Special Forces #2

by Karina Bliss

  For what felt like forever, Ross stared at the sampler. Finally, he stirred. “Who wants milk and cookies?”

  Mortified heat swept up Viv’s cheeks.

  “Me! Me, Uncle Ross.” Tilly came running over.

  “Me,” echoed Harry.

  “I’ll make us coffee.” Awkwardly, he touched Viv’s shoulder in passing.

  She closed her eyes. I am not going to be embarrassed about this. I’m a twenty-first-century woman. I have a right to be sexually assertive.

  With that bracing reminder she followed, but her steps faltered as she approached the kitchen. She couldn’t meet his eyes, yet. The open-plan kitchen/dining area was partially separated from the living room by a solid wall with a built-in bookcase at the end. She paused to scan the shelves.

  “You read,” she called inanely.

  “I prefer it to watching TV.”

  Her humiliation subsided, she was able to notice how cannily the bookcase was built, each cubicle sized for different shaped books from coffee table tomes to paperbacks. So orderly and precise, she suspected Ross had made it. “I love the design of your bookcase, it’s giving me storage ideas for my sewing materials.”

  See this wasn’t so hard.

  A couple of the cubbies held framed photographs—one of Ross and an older woman who must be his mother, another of Ross and a woman who definitely wasn’t his mother. Viv peeked closer. A shapely blonde dressed in running gear with a number bib on her tank. Laughing into the camera, she gripped a gold medal and Ross equally possessively.

  Viv remembered now—he’d dated a triathlete before the ambush. This woman looked perfect for him. Blonde, athletic, stacked…probably had to Vaseline those puppies to avoid runner’s chafe. Stop being a bitch, Viv, because you’re feeling rejected.

  “Coffee’s ready.”

  Steeling herself, she went into the kitchen where she found the three of them sitting around the table munching biscuits. “We should get going after this, kids.”

  “I thought you wanted us to sleep over?”

  “I wasn’t feeling very well before, Til,” Viv rushed to answer, “and thought I might not be able to look after you properly but now I’m fine.”

  “Then why don’t we all stay?”

  Because your uncle knows I want to jump his bones and probably thinks this was some kind of setup. Viv shot him a look but his expression was unreadable. “Uncle Ross wasn’t expecting us anyway, and we have to be home to Skype Mum.”

  “We can phone her from here instead.”

  “I don’t have pajamas.” She looked to Ross for backup, but he was looking out the window with a frown.

  “Uncle Ross can lend you some,” Tilly persisted.

  “The weather’s not improving anytime soon,” he noted. “I guess you’ll have to stay.” He sounded like he was agreeing to a root canal.

  “Yay,” said Tilly.

  “Thanks,” Viv said tartly, “but we don’t want to put you out.”

  He turned his frown on her. “And I don’t want to worry about you driving winding roads in this weather.”

  His attitude was really starting to piss her off. “Get over it,” she snapped. “Let’s leave now, kids, so we’re not driving in the dark.”

  “All I see on that sampler is ‘a time to heal,”’ said Ross abruptly. “It’s all I can allow myself to see. If I came across as rude it’s because I wish it could have been different. I’m sorry.”

  “What could have been different, Uncle Ross?”

  “Have another cookie, honey. You’ve only had three.” Still looking at Viv, he pushed the plate over.

  Mollified, Viv folded her arms. “There, was that so hard?”

  His mouth twitched. “No.”

  Harry squawked and Viv gave him another cookie, too. “I’m not going to go into a decline because you keep turning me down.”

  “Turning you down for what?” Tilly mumbled through a mouthful.

  “I’m sorry,” Ross said again. “Please, Viv, I’d really like you and the kids to sleep over.”

  “Yay!” said Tilly.

  Viv held up a hand. “What’s for dinner?”

  The rare dimple appeared. “Steak, chipped potatoes, fresh beans. I could probably rustle up some kind of dessert.”

  “Okay, we’ll stay.”

  “Thank you,” he said humbly.

  Tilly giggled. “Maybe you are fun,” she said to Viv.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I don’t get why he still doesn’t like me. Dogs like me.” Viv complained after Ross refused to let her feed Salsa the fat off the raw steaks.

  “It’s because you’re an imposter.”

  “But how can he tell? I wear my twin’s clothes. I even wear the same deodorant. We’re exactly the same.”

  “You’re nothing alike, not really.” Ross thought about it. “You radiate a different energy from your sister,” he said. “I never look at Meredith and want to—” He concentrated on turning the steaks on the barbecue.

  Viv finished chopping up a second chicken patty for Harry who’d demolished the first in record speed. “Wring her neck?”

  “That’s right,” Ross said easily. He was barbecuing under the overhang of the deck. Harry and Viv sat at the trestle table using a sun umbrella to protect them from the rain. Harry was in hog heaven, shoveling down bits of chicken patty with one hand, the other thrust outside the umbrella, palm up to catch raindrops.

  Engulfed in Ross’s black leather jacket, collar upturned to frame her face Viv looked as sexy as hell as she took every opportunity to spoon peas into Harry’s mouth. Ross forced his attention to the barbecue.

  He wasn’t sure how they’d ended up here. Except when she’d cried, he’d had to comfort her. Regardless of how he felt about her actions, her motives were always pure. Purer than his.

  “You were pretty keen on wringing my twin’s neck at Linda’s,” she reminded him.

  “Any neck would have done. Your sister’s happened to be the closest.”

  The sound of gunfire drew his attention inside. Tilly was engrossed in watching another of his SAS DVDs. Viv followed his gaze. “Have you told her that selection isn’t open to women?”

  “Hell, no. I’m too scared.” He checked the steaks and turned them. A jet of flame roared through the grill as fat dripped onto the gas burner. “Why don’t you encourage her into your line of work,” he suggested. “It seems cutthroat enough to suit her.”

  Viv laughed, “Ain’t that the truth.” Ross raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been on the shortlist for a remake of Kiss Me, Kate starring Anne Hathaway and Johnny Depp. I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure I’ve missed out on the job.”

  “Only ninety-nine point nine percent?”

  “The producer said they’d notify the successful applicant by the fifth.” She shrugged. “That was four days ago.” She accepted raindrops from Harry’s cupped hand. “Thank you.”

  “So phone. Find out,” Ross suggested.

  “In our industry, it’s very much a matter of don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

  “I said that,” he reminded her. “And you ignored me.”

  “No.” Viv shook her head. “Phoning now smacks of desperation. I’m supposed to be the much-sought-after Vivienne Jansen.”

  “Which makes it even more impressive when you ask how you can improve your chances next time. I’m guessing you want there to be a next time?”

  Viv accepted another raindrop from Harry. “You’re right,” she said at last, “and it stops me fretting about it. Watch the baby?” Retrieving her cell from her jeans, she keyed in a number. “Hello, Sue. It’s Viv Jansen. Listen, I realize you must have chosen someone else for the Depp/ Hathaway project but…” Her voice faded as she disappeared inside the house.

  “Iv?” said Harry.

  “She’s coming back, mate.” Harry offered Ross a raindrop with a big smile. Chicken patty dotted his face like smallpox.

  Ross returned the grin. It was good seeing
the kids, good seeing Viv, now they’d finalized boundaries.

  He plated the meat. “C’mon, mate, let’s go inside. It’s too wet to finish a meal here.”

  “No.”

  “I can hear a helicopter on TV…”

  Harry held out his arms. Ross cleaned him off, scooped him up and took him inside with the meat platter, dumping him by his sister. “Dinner’s ready in five, Til.” He found Viv sitting at the dining table. She glanced up, dazed.

  “Sue said she’s been calling. Merry gave her the cell number last Tuesday but of course I’ve had a new one since the cereal bowl incident.” She frowned distractedly. “I don’t understand why I wouldn’t have got the emails, though, the address was correct.”

  “Have you checked your spam folder?”

  “When have I had a chance to do that?”

  “Well, at least you know now.” Ross put the meat on the table. “I’m sorry, Viv.”

  She stared at him blankly, then laughed. “You don’t understand. The reason they’ve been trying to contact me so urgently is because I’ve got the job.”

  He grinned. “You’re kidding.”

  Her face wreathed in smiles, she stood up. “They were about to give up on me because they hadn’t heard from me. Ross, thank you.” She made a slight movement toward him then stopped, obviously wary of another rejection. So he hugged her, a brief hard embrace that he tried to keep detached from and couldn’t. “Congratulations.”

  Tilly was impressed by the news. Though she couldn’t imagine anything worse than being a princess like Anne Hathaway in The Princess Diaries, “other than having an army.” she’d loved Depp as Willy Wonka in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. “D’you think he’ll still have chocolate left, you know from the movie—I still have Easter eggs an’ it’s September.”

  When they sat to eat, Viv hardly touched her meal, she was too excited…relating funny anecdotes of off, off, off-Broadway stage productions from her early days. And Ross could tell she was itching to text everybody. “It would be bad etiquette at the table,” she said when he suggested it.

  Ross laughed. “Yeah, and we’re really worried about etiquette tonight. Harry’s covered in custard, your niece is chewing with her mouth open and you’re feeding Salsa under the table…don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

  “No, the virtual world can wait,” she said firmly. “Right now, I’m celebrating with you guys.”

  Ross hesitated. “I have a bottle of champagne somewhere,” he said. “I’ll get it.”

  “Not if you’re saving it for something special.”

  “This is special enough.”

  Excusing himself he went to the kitchen. At the back of a cupboard he found the Krug he’d put aside to celebrate the day he officially rejoined his unit. “Not chilled,” he told Viv on his return, “and we’ll have to drink it out of wineglasses but it is champagne.”

  “Can I have some?” Tilly said.

  “Sure.” He poured a tiny sip for her.

  “Me!” said Harry. “Me.”

  Solemnly, Ross handed Harry his water.

  Tilly giggled. “But that’s just—”

  Ross raised his glass. “To your clever auntie.”

  They all chinked glasses, Viv helping Harry, a sparkle in her eyes.

  Tilly choked on hers. “But this is horrible,” she said, dismissing his $180 wine, then looked at her goblet and brightened. “Auntie Viv, you can do your party trick. The one with the cartwheel.”

  “After dinner,” Viv promised. “I’ll need to limber up first. Ross, this is delicious. What is it?”

  He refilled her glass. “Some import.”

  They used the cartwheel as leverage to talk Tilly into an early bedtime. Ross rolled back the rug in the living room while Viv did stretches. The kids sat on the couch, wide-eyed in their pajamas. It had stopped raining, but there was enough of a chill in the air to warrant a fire and it cast a red glow on their expectant faces.

  Tilly had supervised the refilling of the glass to three-quarters because she wanted to make it tricky but not too tricky, she’d informed them. After two glasses of Krug, Viv seemed to be finding it hard to drum up the necessary gravitas. Ross joined the kids on the couch, mimicked a drumroll and got an elbow in the ribs from his niece. “Shush!”

  Her aunt choked down a laugh.

  “Here we go,” she said, and holding the glass steady, did a perfect one-handed cartwheel around it, her long hair sweeping the floor through the turn.

  She landed neatly, and Tilly scrambled out of the couch to check the level in the glass. “None spilled,” she announced, and everyone clapped.

  The firelight caught Viv’s eyes as she laughed, her flushed cheeks and disheveled hair, and Ross realized that even his iron will could be melted by laughter.

  * * *

  Viv walked into the kitchen where she found Ross settling Salsa on a blanket in the corner. “The kids are waiting for a good-night from you.”

  “Coming.” With a final pat for the dog, he handed her the glass of champagne Viv set down after her cartwheel.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked. Friends, just friends. But she was happy and relaxed and a little high from the alcohol and Ross was so gorgeous she kept forgetting not to flirt with him. Still, he’d made it plain she was safe and she’d switched off her danger radar.

  “It’s not as if this stuff keeps,” he said, disappearing down the hall. “I’ll have a glass, too.”

  Viv looked at Salsa. Salsa looked at her. “I don’t suppose you’d let me pat…” The dog stared her down. “No, of course not.”

  Pouring Ross’s champagne, she nearly dropped the bottle when she noticed the Krug Grand Cuvee label and realized how kind he’d been. Reminding herself he wasn’t interested, Viv returned to the living room.

  The first thing she noticed was that he’d already laid out bedding for the pull-out couch. Unconsciously she sighed, then put the glasses on the bookcase and stoked the fire since it was plainly the only thing going to keep her warm tonight.

  As she picked up her glass again, her gaze fell on the spine of the book behind it. Overcoming Impotence.

  Viv froze. No, it must mean something else. Impotence in the boardroom perhaps or impotence in the kitchen? With a quick check over her shoulder she pulled it out of the bookshelf. Coming to terms with Erectile Dysfunction.

  “The kids want you again.”

  Viv pivoted, fumbling to hide the book behind her back.

  “Find some bedtime reading?”

  “No.” Her hands tightened convulsively on the paperback. She summoned a smile. “Go tell those brats to quit stalling.”

  Instead he came closer. “What have you got there?”

  With a terrible sense of inevitability she realized there was no avoiding this. “I do have a book but…well…this is a little awkward.” Why had she said that? Cheeks hot, she brought it forward.

  Ross’s attention went to the cover and his face lost all expression.

  “Of course it’s probably not yours.”

  “It’s mine.”

  Viv wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “If I’d had any idea, Ross, I wouldn’t have kissed you…or propositioned you earlier.” Now she sounded like a sexual predator. “Would you want to…talk about it?”

  His cool gaze lifted. “Not much point, no pun intended.”

  A nervous laugh bubbled up in her and Viv bit her cheek and tried to think of puppies dying. “It would only have been a disappointment anyway.”

  Realizing what she’d implied she added hastily, “The reality could never live up to my eight-year-old fantasy.” Damn the champagne for loosening her tongue. In trying to save his feelings, she’d only exposed her own.

  “You’ve fancied me for eight years?” he said.

  “I’ll go check on the kids.” All thumbs, she jammed the paperback into the bookcase and left the room. She settled the children quickly, not wanting Ross to think she was embarrassed
and hiding. Viv scrambled for an innocuous subject as she returned and her eyes fell on the champagne bottle. “Ross, I had no idea you’d opened a Krug…let me reimburse you for it.”

  “Viv, relax. I’m impotent, not impoverished.”

  “Right, yes. I wasn’t suggesting—”

  “Let’s just enjoy it.”

  “Good idea.” She took a large sip, then another. He didn’t look ill at ease, lounging on the couch, glass in hand, gazing into the fire.

  “I’m glad my condition’s in the open,” he said. “We can relax now.”

  “Yes.” She settled in the armchair. “Is it—”

  “But we won’t talk about it.”

  “No.”

  So they discussed her new job.

  Was the impotence permanent or temporary?

  Talked about a possible design for a specialist bookcase.

  The result of his injuries from the ambush?

  He told her about Muriwai’s gannet colony.

  Is that why his relationship with the blonde ended?

  For a wild moment, Viv wondered if she could help Ross overcome his disability, but common sense told her that someone nervously prone to laugh at awkward moments when empathy and encouragement were called for, wasn’t up to the job, no pun intended.

  Besides, she didn’t have any expertise in being a patient lover. Uninterested in the softer emotions, sex was strictly for fun and she was perfectly happy with a mutual gallop to an orgasm. Viv didn’t want to be held afterward, or reassured or cherished. And she didn’t expect—or encourage—lovers to make the experience any more meaningful than the enjoyment of an excellent meal or a good movie.

  Still, by the time she’d drunk another half flute of champagne she was nearly brave enough to try. Nearly.

  Ross leaned forward and threw a log on the fire, then adjusting the cushions and stretched full-length on the couch. “When you asked in the weight room if I’d ever imagined what it would be like?” He watched the dancing shadows on the ceiling. “You meant the sex.”

  Viv snapped upright “If I’d known—”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I did imagine.”