The Weekend Wife

by Toni Blake

  “Hey, Kimberly, watch this!”

  Kimberly politely lifted her head from her lounge chair in time to see Carlo do a huge cannonball into the pool. How mature. She waited for him to surface and said, “That was a good one, Carlo.”

  “Something to drink from inside, babe?” Max asked from his seat at one of the patio tables.

  Babe. She was trying not to let the old endearment make her feel anything, but it still did. Especially now, after last night. “A wine spritzer would be nice.”

  She’d been trying desperately to come to grips with what Max’s actions had made clear—that he simply felt nothing for her beyond a sexual attraction. So inside she felt snappish toward him. Quit smiling at me with those seductive brown eyes. And stop calling me babe. Because none of that was helping her keep her hold on the reality of this situation.

  And yet, she knew it was necessary. For the rest of the day they were husband and wife, whether or not the pretense broke her heart more with each passing second.

  “Here you go, babe.”

  She opened her eyes to find Max holding out a festive glass covered with bright tropical fish, the spritzer fizzing inside. And he was smiling again. Damn him.

  “Thanks.” She reached up to take the glass with an obligatory return smile that nearly killed her. Because inside she wanted to cry. She might be completely capable of nailing Carlo to the wall, but that didn’t mean she was immune to the emotions of unrequited love.

  Her dainty fingers touched Max’s as he passed her the glass—and something inside him tingled as he pulled his hand away. He gave his head a short shake to shrug off the sensation and hoped she hadn’t noticed, hoped she didn’t start wondering what was going on with him. Of course, he wondered that, too. This was getting worse, this thing with her.

  To allay the feeling, he swung his gaze to where Carlo now sat dripping wet at the edge of the pool. Wouldn’t hurt to do a little more digging, even if it led nowhere. “You know, Carlo,” he said, “last night Kimberly was asking me where you were from and I realized that I didn’t know, either.”

  Carlo smiled in reply. “Me? Oh, nowhere in particular. I’ve always moved around a lot.”

  “You have to be from somewhere,” Max said with a friendly grin. If he could find out even that much about him, it could be a place to start looking into his background. Especially since random Internet searches came up dry. He still remained unsure about putting Kimberly in Carlo’s hands up in the bedroom later. And if he had anything else to go on, it might help in his decision, even as irrational as his current thought process seemed—even to him.

  “Nope, always just moved around,” Carlo replied, cheerful as ever. “Even when I was a kid.”

  “Where do your parents live?”

  “No parents,” he replied simply.

  From the corner of his eye, Max saw Kimberly sit up, adjusting the back of her lounge chair to the raised position. “No parents?” she asked.

  Carlo shook his head. “Lost them both a couple years ago.”

  She tilted her head. “Oh, I’m sorry. What happened to them?”

  “They were old, both of them in a rest home,” he said, and left it at that, as if dying parents were a very small thing.

  “I know it’s hard to lose a parent,” she replied. And at first Max thought she was trying to help coax information from the guy, but then her words really hit him.

  “You’ve lost your parents?” Carlo asked her across the pool then.

  She nodded. “My father died when I was little and I don’t remember him. But my mom passed away just over two years ago. She had cancer.”

  Max swung his head around toward her—as she glanced away. He hoped Carlo hadn’t noticed his shocked expression, but he couldn’t hide it. When Max had known her before, her mother had been alive and well. He’d only met the woman a few times, but she’d been a nice lady, only in her fifties, and he knew Kimberly was close to her, being an only child.

  “That was, um, two years ago in …?” he asked uncertainly. He felt like an idiot to have to pose such a question in front of Carlo, but he felt like an even bigger clod to be hearing the news like this, now, without being able to react.

  “You remember, honey,” she said, looking at him without really looking at him. “In April. Two years ago in April.”

  “That’s right.” Max didn’t know what else to say. Inside, his heart was crumbling with sorrow for her and he wanted to show his concern, find out if she’d coped okay, do something to comfort her. But he couldn’t—at least not right now.

  He ran his hand back through his hair. Why hadn’t she told him?

  But, of course, when would she have?

  Well, maybe when she’d asked about his parents on the ride here two mornings ago, if he’d only been civil enough to ask about hers in return. He couldn’t believe it. What a devastating loss for her.

  “I’m sorry, Kimberly,” Carlo said. Carlo, of all people, comforting her when it should be him comforting her. He stifled a groan of frustration. “What kind of cancer did she have?”

  “Breast cancer—that had spread to other parts of her body,” she said, then swung her feet to the patio and stood up. “Time for a bathroom break.”

  Max watched her slender form move away from him and into the house. And he decided he had to talk to her—now.

  “I’m gonna grab some snacks,” he told Carlo, then followed after her—his partner, his lover, his “wife.” Oddly, it was starting to feel like she was really all three of those things.

  “Brandt!” he called after walking in the house.

  “What?” she replied from the hallway.

  “Wait up, I need to talk to you.” He hurried through the kitchen and toward where she’d stopped just outside the bathroom. He stepped up close. Lowered his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “About your mother. I’m sorry, Kimberly. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

  She nodded, then glanced down, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “Yeah—it was tough. But I got through it.”

  He nodded. His new, stronger Kimberly. Something about that strength made his stomach clench in a mixture of admiration and affection—yet also a little bit of fear. He only hoped the same sweet, gentle young woman he’d known before remained inside her, too.

  He lifted a hand to her soft cheek, pinkened by the sun. “I just…wish you’d have told me. Wish I’d have known. I wish I could have…been there for you.”

  She shook her head, looking incredulous at his sincerity, and he supposed he understood why. It made him pull his hand back. “When would I have told you? We haven’t exactly been in touch with you hating me and all. And you haven’t been much for small talk this weekend.”

  She had him there. On all of it. He’d been heartless toward her. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, Tate. We’re here on a job, not to socialize. But just don’t expect to know every detail of my life.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “I’m not the same girl you knew, Max.”

  “That’s completely clear to me.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s like you told me before. You’re tougher.”

  Kimberly studied the handsome man before her. Was that a hint of appreciation in his eyes? Probably not. Since when could she read Max’s always well-disguised expressions anyway? Still, she somehow got the impression he approved of who she’d become.

  Now, she only wondered what he’d think to know that some parts of her remained as soft as ever underneath it all. That, in fact, sometimes she wondered if all this toughness she wore was truly genuine, really her—or if it was all just a complete fabrication to cover up her weaknesses. He’d likely be disappointed. But that hardly mattered—he didn’t really care for her anyway.

  Oh sure, maybe as a person—his concern right now over her mother’s death demonstrated that. But it was a far cry from what she had going on
in her heart for him and she knew it. So it was best not to start entertaining any thoughts to the contrary.

  “And babe, I really am sorry about your mom.” Lifting the same hand he’d used to touch her cheek, he now placed it on her shoulder, firm and comforting.

  And at the moment she sort of wanted to collapse into his arms and quit being tough girl Kimberly.

  But this was no time for that. Nor was this a man who really wanted that. Be the employee he’s paying you to be. Pull away from him.

  Hard as it was to make herself do it, she shrugged free from his touch. “Thanks, Max.” Though her voice had come out breathier than intended, and she felt uneasy—about everything—and suffered the urge to just get away. “You know, I think I’ve had enough sun for today. I’m going to go shower and change.”

  He nodded. “I’ll go hang out with Carlo some more, maybe grill some hamburgers for lunch.” He glanced at a clock down the hall, so she followed suit. It was noon. “Two o’clock will be here before long.”

  And thank God. The sooner this was all finally over, the better.

  “You’re…sure you’re ready to go through with the plan?” he asked her.

  “Damn it, yes!” she snapped, stomping her bare foot on the hardwood floor. When would he ever start trusting her to do her job?

  “All right, all right,” he said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Don’t get mad.”

  “I’m not. I just want you to quit questioning me on it, that’s all.”

  “Okay, Brandt, whatever you want. No more questions.”

  “Good.”

  Kimberly stepped out of the shower, refreshed in body, but not in mind. She still hadn’t managed to wash away the mounting pain of all she felt for Max but couldn’t express.

  Two more hours, though, and this would all be through. Two more hours and they’d have Carlo on film trying to steal her jewelry. She’d have proven herself to Max, once and for all. And then she could go home.

  After which she could begin the business of trying to get over him again—which she knew from experience would be futile. She would always love Max, and her life would always feel less complete for not having him in it.

  She toweled off in another of the thick bath sheets, then put on a short, summery dress that buttoned up the front, hugged her shape, and showed plenty of thigh and cleavage. She’d long since gotten bored with using her body to lure Carlo in—frankly, it hadn’t taken much work—but most of the clothing she’d brought fell into that category. And besides, she had to wear something at least sort of sexy—since it was time for the “seduction” to finally come down.

  She pulled her hair back from her face into a pretty chignon, then applied a little make-up, noticing the bit of tan she’d picked up the last couple of days and thinking she looked pretty in a summery sort of way. Maybe Max would, too. Not that it mattered, of course. His interest wouldn’t go beyond her skin.

  Well, back to work. Through the open balcony door, she could smell burgers on the grill. She’d go down in a few minutes, but first decided to test the combination and check out the jewelry again. After all, she’d gotten interrupted yesterday when she’d tried to do that. And in less than two hours it was showtime for real.

  Padding across the carpet to the safe, she spun the combination. Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two. Voila. It opened, and she reached inside to extract the black velvet box.

  She’d seen it only hours ago, but something about it still managed to captivate her senses—as if the jewelry inside was real, as if everything about this weekend was real.

  But it’s only pretend. Remember that, Kimberly. Soon she would click her heels and be returned to the Kansas of her apartment, her real life, and all this would be nothing more than a dream. The only part that would count for anything would be putting Carlo Coletti—and hopefully his bosses, too—behind bars.

  As she lifted the lid of the round black box to look inside, the reflected colors of the shimmery fake jewels danced in the sunlight that shone in from the balcony, catching her eye. The truth was—tough chick or not, saying goodbye to this weekend, and Max, forever, was going to be difficult, so for just a moment, she let herself get caught up in the wistful fantasy of it all, the best part, of course, being Max’s wife.

  “Kimberly.”

  The voice came from behind and caught her off guard.

  Because it didn’t belong to Max.

  She tensed, then turned to see Carlo step into the room in his swim trunks and a T-shirt, a lecherous grin beaming from his smarmy face. He fixed a hungry gaze on her, then firmly shut the bedroom door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  All the air drained from Kimberly’s lungs. Her knees went weak, her throat dry.

  But she forced a smile and tried to make it shine through her eyes as well. “Carlo, what are you doing up here?” What do you think you’re doing coming into my bedroom without even knocking? And what gives you the nerve to actually close the door? But she kept those questions inside and held her smile steady.

  And like it or not, she had flirted with the man. Openly. Repeatedly. That didn’t give him the right—but with a guy like him…well, his twisted little brain probably thought it did.

  “You promised to, uh, show me your jewelry today, remember? Looks like you were thinking about it, too.” He glanced at the open velvet box in her hands. And his smile implied he really believed that, as well—he thought they were on the same page here and wanted the same thing.

  “This…isn’t really the best time, Carlo,” she pointed out gently. Because Max wasn’t in the closet running the video camera yet. And where the hell was Max, anyway? For a guy who saw himself as an ace P.I., he sure did lose track of the suspect a lot. Why did this keep happening?

  “Why’s that, sweetheart?” Carlo asked, his tone telling her the answer didn’t matter and that he remained intent on getting his way.

  “Well, Max is right downstairs,” she pointed out anyway. “I thought we’d wait until later, that maybe I’d send him out to run some errands or something. Then you and I could have some…privacy.” At this point she despised letting the sleazeball think she wanted anything to do with him sexually—but on the other hand, that was exactly what she was being paid to do here. And under the circumstances, it at least gave her a strategy to work with.

  “Now, don’t you worry about Max, honey,” her unwanted guest insisted. “It’s just you and me here.”

  Carlo had made similar statements before, but for some reason, this time it sent a fresh bolt of dread through her. He hadn’t done anything to Max, had he? “Um, where is Max?” If he’d hurt Max, she would kill him. Brutally and without a shred of mercy.

  “He’s making us lunch,” Carlo said. “See?” He walked out on the balcony, as if he owned the place, then motioned for her to follow. Her heart flooded with relief to find Max standing at the grill, now in a pair of khaki shorts and a golf shirt, flipping hamburgers.

  “Well, don’t you think he’ll notice us missing?” she asked sensibly. “I mean, remember what happened the last time Max found you in here—he’ll go ballistic. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen.”

  “I told him I was going to use his office to make some phone calls,” Carlo said easily, stepping back inside. Then he chuckled and reached out, grabbing her hand.

  Instinct kicked in before she could stop it, and she made a move to pull it back—but he didn’t let go, his grip tight. Tight enough that her heart started beating double time, pounding like a drum against her ribs.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked with a teasing grin. “We both know you’re into me. We both know you’ve been wanting this to happen.”

  “Well, not…like this,” she said softly.

  He tilted his head, trying to read her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I…I’ve never done anything like this before, Carlo—I’ve always been faithful,” she said, trying to look bashful, emotional, like she simply needed him to be patient
with her. Get him on your side, convince him your way is better. “So…this is big to me.”

  “Well then, come on, baby,” he said, “and let’s quit wasting time.” And with one quick move, he yanked Kimberly to him, hard, making her drop the velvet box. Fake diamonds scattered across the carpet. So much for patience. She braced her hands on his chest and took a step back, trying to catch her breath.

  What now? Break free of him and go running like a banshee from the room, screaming for Max? No, that would botch the whole assignment. And it would prove to Max that she really couldn’t handle her job. She had to find a way to bail herself out of this mess and keep the charade intact.

  “Carlo, wouldn’t you rather wait until later when we could…relax? Have more time? Go more…slowly?” She had to stick to the flirtation—disgusting as that felt to her now. It was the only way. She even went so far as to let the fingers of her right hand walk teasingly up his chest. “Like I said, this is big to me. If I’m going to do this, I want it to be…thorough. Don’t you?”

  “Well, of course, honey,” he said, sounding a little more reasonable. “I get where you’re coming from. But—”

  She cut him off. “I don’t want to risk being interrupted and having to deal with an angry Max. I want us to have time to explore each other completely. I want you to…to make me forget Max ever existed.” Ugh, saying that last part was like sacrilege to her aching heart, but it seemed like a possible way to Carlo’s.

  She felt sure this angle would work, because it had to—and yet he still pulled her back against him, tight. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll make you forget any other man but me.” Arrogant bastard. “And if slow and thorough is what you want…all right then, we’ll wait a little while. But damn, girl, now you’ve got me all revved up—and you can’t expect to get me worked up like this and then make me wait. So let’s just have ourselves a little pre-game fun right now.”