Wife Wanted

by Christine Rimmer

  “Rick, I…”

  Uneasiness tightened like a fist around Rick’s heart. He didn’t like the look on her face. “What?”

  He watched as she glanced down at herself, wrapping her arms across her breasts, hunching her shoulders—trying to cover herself. Not too long ago, he’d asked her not to do that. And she’d said that she wouldn’t.

  “Could you…give me my robe? It’s on the back of the door.”

  He pulled on the door, so that he could check the back of it. Sure enough, the robe hung there. He lifted it from its hook and tossed it to her.

  She stood, catching it as it flew through the air. “Thank you.” Swiftly she stuck her hands in the sleeves.

  Judging by the look on her face, something grim was going to happen. Rick decided he’d just as soon not face it naked. So he turned from her and went back to the other room, where he picked up his jeans from the floor and yanked them on. He was buttoning them up when she appeared in the bathroom doorway.

  “Rick, I…” Again, as before, she couldn’t seem to think of what to say next.

  Not long ago, he’d been certain that everything was going to work out fine. His certainty was fast slipping away. “What is it? Just say it.”

  “Rick, I… We…” She looked at him hopelessly, and then she dragged in a breath and let out words he’d been secretly fearing she might say. “It was a mistake, what we just did.”

  He fisted his hands at his sides, determined to stay reasonable. “I thought it was a choice. A choice you made voluntarily.”

  “It was. Yes. But, you see, as much as I sometimes tell myself that I’m going to be bold and try a one-night stand sometime, I never really expected I’d ever do it. It’s just…not the way I am.”

  He took in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “Is that what this was to you? A one-night stand?”

  She stuck her hands in the pockets of her robe, then looked at him with her head tipped to the side. “Was it a one-night stand to you?”

  He wanted to shout at her that she could damn well answer his question before she hit him with one of her own. But he didn’t. He didn’t trust himself to speak. So he granted her a tight shake of his head.

  “Oh. I see.” She didn’t sound relieved.

  He clenched his fists harder, knowing that the real zinger had to be coming up next.

  She hit him with it. “But you had to know that a one-night stand is all it could be.”

  “Why?” It came out a hoarse croak.

  She bit her pretty lower lip. “Well, as I’ve already explained to you, I’m not equipped right now to get involved with anyone. Especially not someone like you.”

  The last thing he really wanted to know was what the hell she meant by that, but still he heard himself asking quietly, “Someone like me?”

  “Yes.” Her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. “Someone so…good-looking and sexy. Someone who will use me.”

  He felt as if she’d kneed him in the groin. “Use you.”

  She nodded. “Let’s be honest, okay? I know there must be something, some deeper reason why you made love to me. I mean, come on.” She spread her arms to the sides. Now that she had the robe wrapped around her, she seemed to feel safe doing that. “Look at me.”

  He did, long and piercingly, keeping his expression blank.

  She couldn’t take his scrutiny. Her eyes slid away to focus blindly on one of her cherrywood dressers. “You know and I know I’m not the kind of woman that men lose their heads over.”

  Now what could he say to that? If he argued that he damn well had lost his head over her, she’d call him a liar. “Natalie…”

  Still looking at the dresser, she threw up a hand. “No. Stop. Let’s get real. You could have a lot of women.” She bit her lip, and made herself face him. “Is it Toby? Is it that you need a certain kind of woman, someone who’d be a good mother to him?”

  It was too much. She seemed determined to put herself down—and make him into a bad guy. Rick’s anger was growing. He tried to will it away, to remain reasonable and logical. Carefully he sat on the edge of the rumpled bed. “Is that really what you think, that I’m looking for a woman to take care of Toby?”

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to understand.”

  He couldn’t help doubting that. “Are you?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She frowned, thinking. “Is it who I am? That I’m a Fortune? Or is it money? Do you need money? Just…just tell me now. I want the truth.”

  Now she was calling him a liar. The anger he was trying not to feel burned hotter. Very casually, he leaned back on an elbow among the tangled blankets. “All right. Let’s see.” He laid on the sarcasm. “I don’t need money. And I don’t give a damn what your last name is. I do, however, love the way you are with Toby. So maybe that’s it.” He sat up straight. “I’m just looking for a live-in baby-sitter. And you’d be perfect. So I had sex with you, to seduce you to my will.”

  Her face paled. She was only a few feet from him, standing by her little vanity table. Slowly she sank into the chair there. “You can try making a joke of it. But I have to know. Is that really it?”

  He stared into her eyes, reminding himself bleakly that she was insecure, that she’d been hurt badly in the not-too-distant past, that he should go easy, be gentle, do whatever he could to reassure her.

  But, damn it, what had happened in this room tonight had made a vast difference to him. Too much difference, really. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. And he was in no condition to fall all over himself trying to convince her that he wasn’t the gold-digging loser she seemed to think any man who went after her would have to be.

  “Rick. Answer me.”

  If this went any further, he would say something he’d regret. He felt it in his bones.

  He tried to remember how it had been earlier, how beautiful and right.

  But somehow, that made it all the worse, that she could turn on him now.

  He stood. “Look, Natalie. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’ve made a mistake.”

  She pulled her robe tighter around her, hunched her shoulders and bent her head, so that she looked small and lost in the white, fluffy folds. “Yes. Yes, I think we have.”

  The urge to grab her and shake her rocketed through him. He folded his arms across his chest and gritted his teeth, biting back the harsh words that wanted so badly to be said.

  She looked up again, her eyes wide and wounded. “I think I should leave. I’ll stay at my father’s for the next couple of days. It would be too difficult, I think, for me to stay here.”

  He thought of Vanessa then. How totally hopeless it had been to argue with her. Vanessa would get an idea in her head, and there would be no reasoning with her. After those first months of infatuation, their life together had been pure hell, so much so that he’d thought he’d learned his lesson.

  But then he’d met Natalie. He’d been certain she was as different from Vanessa as day was from darkness.

  Dalton, he thought bleakly, welcome to the middle of the night.

  “Rick? Did you hear me?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m going to go on over to my father’s house.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said curtly. Then he gathered up the rest of his clothes and got the hell out.

  Twelve

  The minute the door closed behind Rick, Natalie stood. But her legs felt weak. So she sank back onto the little vanity chair.

  She had told Rick she would leave. And she would. In just a minute, as soon as she got a grip on herself.

  Her body hummed with nervous energy. She closed her eyes, breathed deep and slow, trying to calm herself.

  But then, on the dark inside of her eyelids, she saw Rick, while they were making love, looking at her as if she were the most beautiful, most desirable woman in the world….

  With a little groan of misery, she jumped to her feet. She marched to her closet and got down a small leather suitcase, which she carried back to the bed. Sw
iftly she plowed through her dresser drawers, finding underwear and socks and casual clothes enough to last for a couple of days.

  Of course, she’d have to return to pack up her fancy wardrobe of vacation outfits before she left for the airport. But she could wait until Sunday, late in the day, to take care of that. And then she could come right up here, to her own rooms, where she’d stay until she finished packing her trunks. There was no reason she’d have to deal with Rick at all.

  She thought of Toby, of the fact that he’d actually spoken tonight. He’d asked for her. His little arms had felt so good when he wrapped them close around her neck. Oh, she was going to miss him. She was going to miss him terribly.

  With a tiny cry, she sank onto the edge of the bed and put her face in her hands. After a moment of fierce concentration, she felt calmer again.

  She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders. She would have her emotions completely under control by Sunday. And she’d say goodbye to Toby then.

  Nothing was changed by what had happened between herself and Rick tonight—nothing that mattered, anyway. She would go on her cruise and Rick and Toby would take care of her house and her dog, just as it had been planned from the first. The only thing different would be the two days she spent at the estate.

  Natalie stood once more and looked down at her suitcase. Mentally she ticked off what she saw and decided she had everything she would need for now. She zipped the thing shut. Then she went to the bathroom, where she stepped out of her robe and into the shower.

  As the water streamed down over her, she told herself that she would forget all about tonight in no time. It had just been one of those things. She’d been so confused lately; nothing seemed to be the way it should be anymore. It had probably been bound to happen, that she’d do something foolish and risky—such as falling for her handsome tenant—and then have to suffer the consequences.

  Not that there would be any consequences. Not really serious ones, anyway. Neither she nor Rick was otherwise committed. And they’d been careful to practice safe sex.

  As soon as she’d had her shower and thrown on some jeans and a clean shirt, Natalie was ready to go. She decided to take her car. Technically, Rick was entitled to the use of the ski boat. And she might need her car in the next couple of days, anyway.

  At the gate to the estate, she had to wait what seemed like forever for that new housekeeper to buzz her in. When she reached the sweeping front drive, all the flood-lights were on, bathing the imposing facade in a wash of artificial brightness. After she stopped the car, she waited for a moment, thinking that this time she wouldn’t disappoint Edgar; he could open her door for her.

  But Edgar didn’t come. Silly of her. He was probably sound asleep. She noticed the shiny black sports car waiting near the front walk. It looked like one of the cars her father liked to use when he decided to do his own driving.

  The new housekeeper answered her knock. Her gray hair was in a braid down her back, and she clutched the facings of a dark-colored robe.

  “I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “It’s no problem, miss.”

  “Is my father here?”

  “I really couldn’t say. He went out earlier, but he could have returned by now. I’ve been in my room for the past hour or so. Until you, no one has rung for me.”

  Natalie shifted her bag from her left hand to her right, trying to decide what to do next. She felt more than a little numb, actually. She was just trying to keep moving, so that she wouldn’t have to think too much.

  “May I take your suitcase?”

  She clutched the bag a little tighter. “Um, no. I think I’ll just go on up to one of the guest rooms. I can carry my own things.”

  “The blue room is freshly aired.”

  “Yes. Fine. I’ll take the blue room.”

  “May I help you to settle in?”

  “No, really. That’s not necessary. I’ve disturbed you enough.”

  “It’s no bother.”

  “Thank you. Really. No.”

  “As you wish. Good night, then.” She was already walking away.

  “Good night,” Natalie murmured to the woman’s retreating back. The housekeeper quickly disappeared down a side hall, headed for the kitchen and the servants’ wing behind it.

  Once the woman was gone, Natalie started for the central staircase. But then she hesitated. She was all keyed up, and unlikely to be able to sleep. She knew that she would lie there in the strange bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to remember the feel of Rick’s hands on her skin, trying not to think of all the ways he had touched her, of how he really had seemed to like touching her—almost as much as she’d liked being touched by him. Trying not to wonder whether she might just have walked out on the best thing that had ever happened to her…

  No, sleep was not going to come easily. She set her suitcase and her shoulder bag on the shining expanse of floor and headed for the library, in search of a book to help her to make it through the long night ahead.

  She thought it odd when she reached the tall carved double doors and saw the sliver of light peeking out from under them. The staff was usually careful about leaving lights on when no one was using them. But then she shrugged. The woman who’d just let her in was proof that at least some of the staff were new. And her father, with all his current worries, probably wasn’t nearly as exacting as Grandma Kate used to be.

  Natalie pulled back one of the two doors and stepped over the threshold.

  Her father was there, slouched in his chair at the big desk on the other side of the room. At the sound of the door opening, he raised his head.

  Natalie stared. It was hard to absorb what she saw. He looked very bad. His skin was gray, and his eyes were red-rimmed, with dark pouches beneath them. His hair stood up in spikes, as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it. There was a bright bruise on his chin. Long red scratches marked his neck. He had tossed the jacket of his suit over the back of his chair, and his white silk shirt was rumpled and torn at the shoulder—and spotted with what looked very much like dried blood. In front of him on the desk, a half-empty bottle of Chivas waited, beside a short, thick crystal glass.

  He squinted at her, leaning closer over the desk. “Nat?”

  It took her a moment to find her voice. Her grandpa Ben aside, her father was the strongest, steadiest man she’d ever known. To see him reduced to this caused an awful, hollow feeling down in the deepest core of her.

  He muttered her name for the second time.

  “Yes, Dad.” She spoke carefully, gently. “It’s me.”

  “Well. Welcome.” He picked up the bottle of Scotch and sloshed some into the glass. “C’mon in.” He grabbed the glass and knocked half the drink back, gasping after he swallowed.

  Natalie regarded him warily, trying to decide what exactly she should do.

  He grunted. “Don’t give me that look. I got it unner control. You know your dad. Always unner control.” He studied the glass, as if there were something terribly interesting about it. And then he squinted at Natalie again. “Well. What’s the matter? Isn’t it late? Why’re you here?”

  “I just…I’m here for the night. Well, until Monday morning, actually. Is that okay?”

  He blinked owlishly at her and forked a hand through the gray spikes of his hair. “’Course it’s okay. You’ve always got a place here.” He frowned. “But you still didn’t say what you’re doing here.”

  There was pressure in her chest. Pain for him. What could have happened, for him to be sitting here, in a torn, bloody shirt, drinking himself senseless in the middle of the night? She shouldn’t want to know. She’d told herself she was staying away from the endless problems in the family.

  But this looked like something much worse than just a problem. This looked scary. This looked very, very bad.

  “You gonna stand there in the doorway staring at me with those big sad eyes all night long?”

  “No, Dad. Of course not.” She turned and clos
ed the door behind her.

  He gestured at a chair. “Have a seat. An’ have a drink.” He was already pouring himself another. “You want Scotch?”

  “No.”

  “Well.” He gestured again. “Cabinet’s over there. Help yourself. Whatever you want.”

  “No, thanks.”

  He lifted a shoulder, the one that wasn’t spotted with blood. “Suit yourself.”

  Cautiously she approached the desk. “Dad, I think you’ve had enough.”

  He snorted as he drank again.

  She moved around the desk, until she was standing beside his big swivel chair. He was just setting his glass down when she took the arm of the chair and spun it so that he faced her. His eyes rolled a little, as if the sudden movement had dizzied him, and then he leveled a pitiful imitation of his old, hard stare on her.

  “Nat. Watch yourself.”

  She saw then that he’d been cut somehow, beneath the torn shirt. “Dad. You’re hurt….” Instinctively wanting to comfort, she reached out.

  He flinched back, turned his bobbling head to look at his torn shirt and injured shoulder. Then he grunted and waved a hand. “’S nothing. A scratch.” He tried to reach for his drink.

  She held on to the arms of the chair, and knelt before him. “Dad. What’s going on here? What’s happened?”

  He peered down at her, scowling. And then his face went lax. He sucked in a deep breath. “’S not your problem. You don’t want to know.” He jerked in the chair, as if trying to break free of her grip. But he didn’t put much energy into it.

  And she held on tight. “Yes, Dad. I do. I do want to know.”

  He reached out, weakly, and his hand brushed her cheek. “Innocent Nat. With her big heart, looking at the world through her rose-colored glasses.”

  “Talk to me. Please.”

  “You still love those Disney movies?”

  “Dad…”

  “I heard you got rid of that creep you were seeing. Joel.”