The Millionaire Claims His Wife

by Sandra Marton

  Oh, how much more wonderful that single rose had been!

  He’d come home with it in his hand, years and years ago, along with wine and two tickets to the Virgin Islands, and when he’d offered her the rose he’d smiled shyly and said it was almost as beautiful as she was.

  She could still remember how she’d gone into his arms.

  “I’m sweaty, babe,” he’d said huskily. “I need a shower.”

  And she’d said yes, he did, and she’d started to undress him, and a minute later they’d been naked, in the shower together.

  Her skin tingled now, just remembering what it had been like, the long, slow soaping of each other’s bodies, the kissing and touching, the way they’d ended up making love right there, under the spray, Chase’s arms hard around her, her legs tight around his waist, him saying her name against her mouth, over and over, and she crying out as they came together in explosive release.

  Tears stung behind her lids. It was stupid, thinking about things like that. Especially about sex, because that brought her straight to what had finally ended their marriage.

  She’d been taking a class in dried flower making and design. She’d done some nice work, she knew that, but one night the instructor had asked her to wait after she dismissed the class. Then she’d asked Annie’s permission to enter one of her flower arrangements in a juried show.

  Annie had said yes. And she’d been so happy and excited that she’d forgotten how long it had been since she and Chase had shared good news. She’d jumped into her car, driven to Chase’s office building, found the front door unlocked and sailed down the hall, straight into his office...

  Annie shuddered.

  She could still see them now, her husband and his secretary, the girl with her arms around Chase’s neck and his around her waist, their bodies pressed together...

  That was it. The marriage was over.

  Chase had tried to explain, to worm out of the truth, but Annie wasn’t stupid. She’d endured enough pain, watching the man she loved slip slowly but steadily away from her all those years.

  And “loved” was the right word. That night, as Chase and his secretary sprang guiltily apart, Annie knew that whatever she’d once felt for her husband was gone. Deader than a daffodil that’s been squashed by a truck.

  “Annie,” Chase had said, “Annie, you have to listen.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Cooper,” the young woman had pleaded, “you must listen!”

  Listen? Why? There was nothing to talk about.

  She’d felt suddenly very calm. The decision was out of her hands, thanks to Chase and the weeping girl.

  “I want a divorce,” she’d told him, and she’d even managed a cold smile for the secretary. “He’s all yours,” she’d said, and then she’d turned on her heel and marched out

  Things had gone quickly, after that. Her sister, Laurel, had recommended an attorney, although Laurel had done her best to convince Annie not to act so hastily. But there was nothing hasty in Annie’s decision. She and Chase had been heading for this moment for years.

  The divorce had been civilized. Chase’s attorney was an old friend, David Chambers, who kissed her cheek and treated her with courtesy during their one face-to-face over a conference table. Chase wanted her to have the condominium. Half their savings. Half of everything. Child support, and generous alimony.

  Annie said she didn’t want the money. Her lawyer, and his, told her not to be stupid. She had a child to support. They were right, she knew, so she accepted everything except the alimony. As for the condo—it was filled with ugly memories. She sold it as soon as she could, moved to Stratham and began a new life. A career. She’d cut herself off from the past, and damned successfully. She’d made friends. She’d dated. And now she had Milton Hoffman, who wanted to marry her.

  And then Chase had come along, spoiling everything with a stupid lie.

  Annie chomped down on her lip.

  Who was she kidding? Her life had started slipping off the tracks hours before Chase had told that dumb lie and the truth was, she understood that he’d done it not out of stupidity but out of love for their daughter.

  The lie hadn’t put her on this collision course with disaster.

  The dance had. That silly dance at the wedding.

  Annie tried not to remember. The warmth of Chase’s arms encircling her. The beat of his heart against hers. The feel of his lips against her hair, against her skin. The feeling that she bad come home, that she was where she’d always belonged.

  Oh God.

  She took a long, shuddering breath.

  Stop it, she told herself fiercely, and she put her head back, shut her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

  * * *

  A change of pitch in the jet’s engines woke Chase hours later.

  He yawned, tried to remember where he was—and went completely still.

  Annie was asleep, with her head on his shoulder. She was tucked close against him, her face against his neck, just the way she used to back in the long-ago days when they’d cuddle up together on the sofa to watch Sunday football.

  “You watch,” she’d say, “I don’t mind. I’ll read.”

  But after a little while, she’d sigh. The book would slip from her hands. She’d put her head on his shoulder and sigh again, and he’d sit there with her asleep beside him, unwilling to move or to give up these sweet moments even if every muscle in his body ached.

  A feeling of almost unbearable tenderness swept over him. She was dreaming, too. Looking down, into her face, he could see the little smile on her lips.

  Was she dreaming about him?

  “Annie?”

  Annie sighed. “Mmm,” she said.

  “Babe, it’s time to wake up.”

  She smiled and cuddled closer. “Mmm,” she whispered, “Milton?”

  Milton?

  Milton Hoffman? That was the man in his wife’s dream? That was why she was smiling and cuddling up so close to him?

  Chase felt his heart turn to ice.

  Hoffman. That poor excuse for a man. That effete jerk. That was who Annie wanted. That was the kind of man she’d always wanted.

  Why hadn’t he seen it before?

  Milton Hoffman, Professor of English, Shakespearean Authority and All-round Chrome Dome, never had mud on his wing tips. He never had to leave the house before dawn and come home, dragging his tail, long after dark. He never had to wonder if anybody noticed the shadow of dirt under his fingernails because ol’ Milton had never had dirt under his fingernails, not in this lifetime.

  Chase sat up straight. Annie’s head bobbed; she made a little purring sound and nuzzled closer.

  “Annie,” he said coldly. “Wake up.”

  “Mom.”

  Annie sighed. She was at that point where you know you’re dreaming, but you’re not quite ready to give up the dream. Not this dream. She was too interested in seeing how it would end.

  She had been sitting in a classroom, with Milton on his knees beside her. He’d just proposed, and she was earnestly explaining why she had to turn him down.

  I like you very much, Milton, she said, and I respect you and admire you.

  But he wasn’t Chase. His kisses had never stirred her the way Chase’s did. His touch didn’t set her on fire.

  “Annie? Wake up.”

  “Milton,” she said, and then she opened her eyes and saw Chase glaring at her from two inches away.

  Annie jerked back, her face coloring. How long had she been asleep? How long had she been lying snuggled up against Chase as if she were a teenager in a drive-in theater—if there still were such places?

  No wonder Chase was looking at her that way. God, she’d probably drooled all over him.

  “Sorry.” She put her hands to her hair and smoothed it back from her face. “I, ah, I guess I dozed off.”

  “And dreamed of Prince Charming,” Chase said, with a tight little smile.

  “Prince...?”

  “Good old Milty. Your fiancé
.”

  Annie stared at Chase and remembered her dream. “Did I—did I say anything?”

  “What’s the matter, Annie? Afraid I might have heard the dialogue that went with an X-rated dream?”

  “It wasn’t X-rated! I was just dreaming that—that...”

  “Don’t waste your breath.” Chase’s voice was chill. “I’m not interested.”

  Annie stiffened. “Sorry. I almost forgot. Nothing I ever had to say was of much interest to you, was it?”

  “Mr. Cooper? Mrs. Cooper?” The flight attendant smiled down at them both. “We’ll be landing in just a few minutes. Would you put your seat-backs up, please?”

  “With pleasure,” Chase said.

  “I’m buying a return ticket the instant we touch down,” Annie snapped, without looking at him.

  “You won’t have to. Believe me, it’ll be my pleasure to buy you the ticket and to see you to the plane.”

  * * *

  It was a fine idea. Unfortunately it didn’t work.

  The next plane to Boston was completely booked.

  “Providence, then,” Chase said. “Bradley...”

  One by one, he rattled off the names of airports. One by one, the clerk at the ticket counter shook her head.

  “We’ve had lengthy delays all morning,” she said. “Fog here, thunderstorms in the Midwest...” She smiled apologetically. “I might be able to get your wife—”

  “Ex-wife,” Annie said.

  “Whatever. I might be able to get her out of here tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Yeah,” Chase grumbled, “okay.”

  “Not okay! ”Annie glared at him, as if it was his fault she was in this predicament. “What am I supposed to do until tomorrow afternoon? Sit around the airport?”

  “I’ll get you a hotel room.”

  “Good luck.”

  Annie and Chase looked at the ticket clerk, whose shoulders rose and fell in a helpless shrug.

  “On top of all the delays, there’re two major conventions in town.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “My boss tried everything he knew to get a room for a VIP just a little while ago, and even he couldn’t come up with anything.”

  Annie had a mental picture of herself joining the rows of exhausted travelers draped over every available seat in the terminal.

  “Don’t worry,” Chase said quickly. “I’m sure my client’s arranged a room somewhere for me. You can have it just as soon as I get in touch with him.”

  As if in response, an electronically amplified voice rang out, paging Mr. Chase Cooper.

  Chase took Annie’s arm, drew her aside and picked up a courtesy phone.

  “Yes?” He listened, then sighed and rolled his eyes as if to say this was just one more problem he didn’t need. “Mr. Tanaka,” he said politely. “No, no, I didn’t see your man holding up my name at the arrivals gate.” He glared at Annie, who glared right back. “I was, ah, preoccupied.”

  “Who is it?” Annie hissed.

  Chase turned away. “Well, that’s very kind of you, Mr. Tanaka. Sending a car for me...thank you.”

  “Is it somebody from Seattle?” Annie said, dancing in front of him. “Ask him if he knows of a hotel that might have a room.”

  Chase sighed. She was right. Kichiro Tanaka, his new client, was a wealthy and well-connected businessman. He had major investments in the southwest, and now he’d turned his attention to the coast. For all Chase knew, the guy might even own a hotel in this city.

  “Mr. Tanaka... Yes, I’ll meet your driver at the exit. In just a moment. But first—I wonder if you might be able to help me out with a small problem?”

  Annie’s mouth thinned. That’s what she was, all right. A small problem. It was all she’d ever been, as far as Chase was concerned.

  “Well...” Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “My, ah, my wife accompanied me to Seattle.”

  “Ex-wife,” Annie snapped.

  Chase glared at her and slapped his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

  “Do you really want me to start explaining what you’re doing here to a stranger?”

  Annie colored. After a second, Chase cleared his throat and spoke again.

  “She didn’t intend to stay, though. Yes, well, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

  “What is?” Annie demanded.

  “Charming. Yes. Yes, that she’d fly all this distance, just so we could spend a few hours more together.”

  Annie opened her mouth, stuck the tip of her finger inside and pretended to gag.

  “The problem, Mr. Tanaka, is that all the flights have been delayed. It’s probable Annie won’t be able to leave until tomorrow and I’ve been told all the hotels are solidly booked... Really?”

  “Really, what?” Annie said.

  “That’s fine. Yes, of course. At the exit area, in a couple of minutes. Thank you, sir. I’ll...we’ll see you soon.”

  “What?” Annie said again.

  Chase hung up the phone and grabbed her hand.

  “Come on. We’ve got to meet the car and driver he sent for me.”

  “Hot stuff,” she muttered. “A car and a driver, all for you.”

  “And a suite, all for us.” His smile was quick and shiny. “So stop complaining.”

  Annie looked at him as they hurried toward the escalator.

  “You mean...?”

  “I mean, luckily for you, he says there’s more than enough room for the both of us.”

  “Not in one hotel room, there isn’t.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” They’d reached the lower level, and Annie hurried to keep up with Chase’s long stride. “He says we’ll have a living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom all to ourselves.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Annie snapped, as Chase thrust her out the door ahead of him.

  “Damn right. The last thing I feel like doing is curling up in a hotel lobby tonight while you take over my bed.”

  “Such gallantry. But—”

  “But what?” Chase snapped in her ear as a black limousine slid to the curb. The driver got out, executed a perfect salute and opened the rear door. “Just get into the car, Annie. We can endure each other’s company a little while longer. As tempting at the thought of leaving you at the airport is, I can’t bring myself to do it.”

  As tempting as it was, staying at the airport for endless hours didn’t appeal to her, either.

  “All right,” she snapped back. “But you better hope this suite is the size of Yankee Stadium. Otherwise, you may find yourself sleeping in the lobby anyway!”

  * * *

  It wasn’t the size of Yankee Stadium—although it was close.

  But it wasn’t a suite, Annie thought an hour later, as she stared around her in shock. And it certainly wasn’t a hotel.

  The limo had not taken them to one of the high-rise buildings in downtown Seattle. It had whisked them to a pier, where they’d boarded a sleek motorboat.

  “Chase,” Annie had said, over the roar of the boat’s engines, “where are we going?”

  Chase, who’d been starting to think he knew the answer, looked at the pilot.

  “Tell me that we aren’t going to the island,” he said.

  The pilot grinned. “Sure enough, we are.”

  Chase groaned.

  Annie looked at him as he gripped the railing and stared out over the churning water. She’d read the one, silent word on his lips and the tips of her ears had turned pink.

  Now, standing in this room, she half wanted to say the word herself.

  The wisps of fog that had drifted across the boat’s bow during their journey had lifted as they’d neared their destination. Annie had glimpsed an island, a place of towering green trees sloping down to a rocky shore. High among the trees, as if it were an eagle soaring out over the water, there was a lodge. It was a magnificent sight, a sculpture of redwood and glass. It was a fabulous aerie, commanding a view of the Sound in isolated sple
ndor.

  Wooden steps led up the craggy face of the cliff. Annie had climbed them, refusing Chase’s outstretched hand and instead clasping the wooden railing, telling herself that when they reached the top, she’d see something more than that one structure. A hotel. A cluster of buildings. A resort...

  But there was only the lodge, and when Chase opened the door and went inside, she followed.

  The rooms they passed through were spectacular. There was a kitchen, white and shiny and spotless. A bathroom, complete with a deep Jacuzzi and a stall shower built against a glass wall so that it seemed open to the forest. There was a living room and as Annie stepped into it, sunlight suddenly poured through the huge skylight overhead, so that the white walls and pale hardwood floor seemed drenched in gold.

  Mr. Tanaka’s ancient heritage showed in the room’s elegant yet simple lines: the woven tatami mats on the floor, the handsome shoji screen that served as a backdrop for a low, black-lacquered table and the plump, black-and-white silk cushions that were strewn on the floor before the fieldstone fireplace. Sliding glass doors, flanked by tall white vases filled with pussy willows, opened on to the deck.

  But it was the bedroom that made Annie gasp, and mentally repeat Chase’s muttered profanity. Their absent host’s living room had been serenely Japanese—but Mr. Tanaka had very Western tastes when it came to his sleeping quarters.

  The floor was covered with white carpet so deep and lush it made Annie’s toes curl longingly inside her sneakers. One wall was mirrored; one was all glass and gave out onto the forest and the Sound. The furnishings themselves were spare and handsome. There was a teak dresser. A matching chest. A bentwood rocking chair.

  And a bed.

  One enormous, circular bed, elevated on a platform beneath a hexagonal skylight, and swathed in yards and yards of black-and-white silk.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ANNIE TOLD HERSELF to calm down.

  Count to ten. To twenty. Concentrate on finding the peaceful center within herself. Wasn’t that what she’d spent six weeks trying to learn when she’d taken that Zen philosophy course last winter?