“I’m hungry.” His tactic changed to whining.
Mrs. Avery pointed to his chair. “Do you want me to call you in something before I leave for the day?”
“You can’t order what I want.” He returned to his seat and put his head in his hand. “Please don’t leave.”
“I have a doctor appointment, you will live. You have Peter.” She patted his head and without even offering him a mint, left.
He watched her go and averted his attention to Peter.
“Guess who called me today?” Peter sat across from him.
The law of deduction would tell him not Elizabeth. His relationship was much stronger than Peter’s. Relationship? His mind wandered as he pondered the word. Yes, he and Willow were in a relationship, they were married. Of course everyone had a relationship to one another, but were they in a relationship in addition to the way he threw them together? He already established that he would have dated her, he couldn’t wait to see her, he thought about her. How did she feel?
“Hello.” Peter waved his hand.
Randolph blinked and refocused. Damn, he wished he had the time to go home or by Willow’s shop. “Who called you?”
“Slate.”
“What?” Peter didn’t appreciate art. Willow did. She appreciated everything. Again his thoughts went off in another direction. She kept asking what happened after the year was out, and now he wanted to know as well. Would they date after their marriage ended? His throat constricted and he stood.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He pulled out his cell phone, resumed his seat and glanced at his messages. Willow rarely initiated text messaging, she seemed exasperated by the whole idea of her cell phone, but she always replied. “Why did Slate call?”
“He says you’ve been putting him off about his co-op and thought you had something for him.”
Randolph stared straight ahead. The co-op. He froze, his neck muscles stretched to the point of breaking at his recollection. The last he remembered he needed some signatures. “I need you to do something for me.”
“That is why I am called your personal assistant.”
He opened a drawer and found the co-op file along with a piece of stationery and an envelope. “Please go to the gallery and have Slate sign these documents so I can run some reports.” He found a pen and quickly jotted a note to Willow asking her to dinner that evening. Perhaps a more old-fashioned mode of communication was in order and he was on a quest for yet more answers from his wife, but not about her past. He put the note in the envelope and wrote her name on it. “While you are on that block will you please hand deliver this to my wife?”
Peter took the folder and the notes. “Would you like me to spray some cologne on it too?”
“Go.” He pointed toward the door, hitting a pile of the folders. The pile gave him a courtesy teeter, enough time for him to react.
Instinct took over and he jumped to save the stack, but only succeeded in knocking it over and ended up showering the room in manila folders and scattered papers.
“Oh holy hell!” Peter got down on his knees, crumpling several of the documents.
“Don’t touch it.” Randolph pressed his fingers into his temple and took in the disaster. Peter would only make it worse. “Just go and forget the letter to Willow. Just go.”
Without saying another word, Peter put the letter on the top of the mess and tiptoed out, shutting the door behind him.
He slumped down in his seat and gazed at the picture of his wife. No dinner, no talking, no bed. Instead, he would be here for the duration. The mishap no doubt added hours to his workload.
A light rap at the door interrupted his self-loathing. All he needed was a visit from his father or the garbage man. “What!”
The door opened.
“Randolph?” A golden glow entered his office in the form of one Willow Van Ayers holding a basket in one hand and her handbag over her shoulder.
He exhaled, his body weak with relief or some emotion he didn’t know quite how to describe. “Willow?” Maybe the power of wishful thinking did work and the energy she always spoke of called her to him. He straightened up.
“Don’t move.” She walked around the papers.
He remained perfectly still.
“The vibes through here are off the wall.” In a figure hugging wrap dress with a geometric pattern and the necklace he bought her, she waded her way through the war zone to him.
“Be careful.” He took her hand and pulled her to him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Now it’s getting better.” He put his hand in the curve of her waist, leaned in and kissed her.
“Don’t lie to me.” The bangles around her wrist made a satisfying click as she lifted her arm and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek.
He swore the woman was psychic. “I’m a little stressed out.”
“I can fix it.” She pushed him back into his chair and put her basket on the one clean spot of his desk. “First, you need to eat.”
“I am starving.” He gazed up at her. The sunlight danced over her features. For the first time since he walked into his office, he took a breath.
“Then it’s a good thing I brought food.” She let out a light chuckle and handed him a bowl and a fork.
The aroma of spice filled the air. Unfamiliar spice. “What did you get?” He took hold of the white china bowl and peered inside. The mish mosh of food seemed mixed up and…he tried to think of the right word. Well, it seemed healthy. Mess of papers or not, maybe he should be a man and treat Willow to lunch at the nice five-star restaurant in the next building over.
“It’s mixed vegetables and grilled organic free-range chicken on a bed of kale and quinoa with cumin and turmeric and other Moroccan spices, and I topped it with some currants to give it a little sweetness.” She held out a fork.
“You topped it?” If she topped it, she may have done more than pick his meal up at a restaurant.
“Oh there was the most amazing farmer’s market and I saw those vegetables. They looked like they belonged on the cover of a cookbook, so I bought them, and then I did something I never did before.” Her voice vibrated with excitement.
“Tell me.”
She put a bottle of water down on his desk and walked over to the papers strewn about on the floor. Without even asking she started picking them up. “I went back to the house and Chef and everyone let me have the kitchen so I could cook for you.”
Holy Mother of God, she had made a meal for him. He was quite certain his mother never made his father anything beyond an olive for his martini. Hell, he would put money on the fact Elizabeth never made Peter anything. Even if it took his last ounce of strength, he would get down every bite. He stabbed some of the healthy goodness with his fork. “How did you get to the house?”
With grace and smooth movements, she continued with the little task she deemed her. “I took a bus and then walked up the hill.”
The vision of Willow taking the bus through Los Angeles made his hunger wane. “Why didn’t you call Dimitri?” If he found out their Head of Staff didn’t drive her here he swore he would make the man eat all of food in his bowl and any leftovers.
“I didn’t want to bother him, but he drove me to your office. Insisted on it. Even made me sit in the back seat.” She put the papers and file folders in a neat pile on a chair and returned to him, leaning back on the desk. “You’re not eating.”
With no choice, he put the fork in his mouth. Rather than the strange textures and weird combinations he anticipated, a flurry of flavor cascaded over his tongue. Spicy sweet and plenty of bite, the dish was refreshing rather than repulsive and he nodded. “This is quite good.” He took some more.
“I’m glad you like it.” She walked behind him.
To top her treats, she massaged his neck.
Her fingers pressed in all the right places. Tight, sore muscles gave way underneath her touch. He leaned his head forward, basking in the
way she tended to him, in the way she sauntered around his office taking over like a…like a wife. “Willow?”
“Shh.” She slid her hands to his shoulders. “Try to relax. I’ve been worried about you.”
He put the bowl aside and closed his eyes. How did she know exactly what he needed? No one ever worried about him. “Why?”
She continued to work over his shoulders, his arms and back up to his neck. “You’ve been working way too much.”
He wanted a real answer, one not recycled about every banker on the planet. If anyone in investments was any good, he or she was also working too much. “How do know how much I’m supposed to work?”
In a surprise move, she bent down to his ear. “I’m your wife, I know.”
An amazing shiver ran through him at her voice brushing against his ear. For the first time she actually referred to herself as his wife. He grabbed her hands. “Since you’re my wife, what else do you know?”
“That you may need more than food on your lunch break.”
His body reacted instantly to her teasing tone. Without waiting one second, he pulled her over onto his lap and chose to sample something even more delectable.
Their mouths melded together, their lips and tongues working in unison to tempt and taunt the other.
A small coo escaped her throat and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
He held her tight and ran one hand down her arm and cupped her breast, his thumb grazed her tight nipple.
She squirmed and deepened the kiss.
After tending to her other breast, he skimmed his hand down her body until he found her bare knee.
His erection swelled and he lifted his hips, grinding into her. “What else do I need?” He spoke into her open mouth.
She connected their lips once more and without a word answered by lifting her knee.
“Oh, God.” He toyed with her mouth and inched his hand up her thigh, stopping short.
“Don’t stop.” She tangled her fingers in the knot of his tie. While she once struggled with unknotting the accessory, now she managed to perform the action with ease.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes, the blue as incredible as the first time he saw her. “Do I turn you on?”
Before reaching his goal, she caught his wrist. Without breaking eye contact, she untied the bow on the front of her dress. The garment fell open, revealing his gorgeous wife. “I think you know the answer to that.”
The lunch hour had to be ending. At any time his office would be deluged with more people, more work, but maybe he had time for a little indulgence. “Let me take care of you and then tonight you can return the favor.” Feeling his wife orgasm against his hand would be enough to get him through the rest of the day.
She shook her head. “No, both of us.”
He kissed her. “There’s no time, no room.”
“There’s always time.” She got up, let her dress drop to the floor
“Willow.” He stood and took her all in, his hand automatically going to his belt buckle.
“We can make room.” With a slight smile on her face, the same one he used when he knew he made the right financial choice and bested someone else, she moved her basket to the floor, propped herself up on his desk and spread her legs. “It’s easy.”
At the sight of her practically splayed across his antique desk he ripped his pants open. “I want you.”
“Then you better take me.” She reached out for him.
Not bothering to think and going simply with his own wants, he let his boxer briefs drop, took hold of her hips and entered her.
Warm and ready, her body accepted him with no resistance.
“Jeez.” In an attempt to calm down, he held her tight and took a breath. After spending the afternoon thinking about her and then watching her, he would go over the edge too fast.
She put her hand on the back of his head. “You better hurry.”
“Oh, man.” With her permission, he let loose and thrust into her.
“Take out your stress on me.” She wrapped her legs around his hips.
“Willow.” He shut his eyes and drove into her, fast, strong strokes designed to rush him to his own end and it worked. His entire being focused on the pleasure the two of them created together. There was something to be said for making love to the same woman, getting to know her, being able to do anything including a quickie in his office. It was one of the many definitions of a wife, and the thought only served to stoke his arousal. He never wanted a woman as much.
“That’s right.” Her voice hitched. “Come on.”
“I need you to.” Though his body tensed preparing for the ultimate release, he snuck his hand between them to give her the extra required to catch up to him. Making love to her wouldn’t be the same if they both didn’t obtain satisfaction. They had to get there together.
“Ah.” She dug her nails into the thin fabric of his dress shirt. “I’m there.”
He waited to hear those words, but even more glorious was the way her body undulated around him. The ripples of her orgasm reverberated through him giving him the last push to completely let go. His climax hit him hard, wracking him with multiple surges of unbelievable ecstasy. “Oh, God!” He grabbed her, a needed and welcome support as his knees buckled from exertion and euphoria. “Oh my God.” He lowered his face to her shoulder, grazing his lips against the salty sweetness of her bare skin.
“You needed this.” She combed her fingers though his hair and chuckled.
“I need you.” He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. The words left his mouth with barely a thought, but damn if that wasn’t exactly how he felt.
“I know you need me.” She leaned back.
His strength returning, he caught the meaning of her words. The awkward moment gave him the perfect lead into the question he had before she ever arrived here. “Do you need me?”
She let her hands drop to the desk. “We need each other.”
He lifted his head and stared into her face. “More than the obvious?”
“Is it?” Her lips twitched threatening to smile.
The woman was definitely turning into an executive’s wife, answering a question with a question was an old trick used by the best. He moved in to kiss her.
A knock at the door interrupted them.
He froze and Willow giggled. What did he do with a wife naked on his desk, him with his pants around his ankles, and both of them in complete disarray?
The door handle jiggled. “Randolph.” A familiar female voice called to him.
He turned to her. “That’s one of the analysts.”
“Answer her.” The smile she fought, took over her whole face.
“Don’t come in! Give us a minute.” He pulled up his pants and attempted to put himself back together.
“Well I suppose this afternoon we won’t have time for a second round.” Willow got off the desk and slipped back into her dress.
He stopped his unsuccessful attempt to rid his clothes of wrinkles and watched her wrap her body back up.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Well at least I found one thing that makes you stop and take a breath.”
“It’s you.”
“Are you working late tonight?” She cleaned up her basket, found his tie and wrapped it around his neck, holding both ends.
He used her tactic and shrugged.
“How about I go back to the house for a bit and then return with dinner and a change of clothes?”
He used the spare suit he once kept in the office the day after they got married and he never replaced it. “That would be amazing.” Only a wife could pick up on what he needed.
“Okay, I’ll be back.” She picked up her handbag and her basket.
“You don’t have to rush.” He caught her arm and gave her a light kiss. “But hurry.”
Her cheeks betrayed her with a blush. She walked across the office and opened the door. The shadow of the analyst darkened the exit.
“Give Mr. Van Ayers a few minutes, will you?” She peeked back inside and winked.
He waved even though she was only a few yards away. She changed, but she was still Willow.
“How’s your neck?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Never better.” He watched his wife leave and he didn’t want to see her go. Yes, things had changed.
* * * *
One thing about the mansion, dare she call it her home, was that Willow never walked into an empty room. The staff always offered a comforting presence and a smile. However, in the middle of the day with the men working, Lillian off at one of her events and Nan still at the shop, everything seemed unusually quiet and she didn’t realize until that moment how vibrant her life had become.
She tiptoed up the stairs, but she may as well have floated. What she wished for at Christmas might turn into reality. The man who tormented her, then married her, seemed to want her. Once she did as she believed, and let it go and opened her mind, he came to her. Yes, maybe they met and married in an unconventional way, but she was never known for following any convention.
Her instinct told her Caroline and Judge and Lillian and Mr. Van Ayers met the same way. Unsure if the strange ritual was some bizarre tradition or something else, the method no doubt worked for at least two generations.
After making her way into their suite, she put her bag down with a pat, and went to the closet. Her side was merely a fraction of Randolph’s but she got a nice boost when Caroline gave her the vintage clothing Lillian squealed over. In truth, the pieces were gorgeous and amazing and they fit her. After struggling to merge her style and Randolph’s life, she found her answer and loved the new look. Lillian clapped every time someone doled out a compliment on her clothes.
She slipped out of her dress into her robe and turned to her husband’s overstuffed side of the closet. Shirts, suits, pants, everything in copious quantities, all perfectly hung and color coordinated. The man even had an entire separate section for ties, little racks that pulled out from the wall revealed multicolored and textured ties, her favorite part of his normal uniform. She ran her hand along the shirts wondering what she should choose.
On The Dotted Line Page 21
